So It Goes
by letters
Summary: Retired military and going nowhere fast, Duo joins a band headed by a charismatic and audacious Heero Yuy right before they make it big. Life becomes a colorful blur of music and romance, but everyone has secrets they can't hide forever.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This is a story I've been working on for quite a while, now. It's still a rough draft, and as such, is somewhat disjointed and is missing a few scenes I'm still working on here and there. So far, there aren't even really chapters, so I'm just posting what I have completed so far. Let me know what you think! I'm only posting this now because I want it to be better. Thank you; I hope you enjoy it.

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><p>It seemed like a good night to drink.<p>

The goldfish was definitely dead, floating belly up in his little, round, glass bowl. He, (I'm assuming it was a he), had commiserated with me when my wife had decided not to come home one evening, choosing instead to go home to someone else. Someone a little more successful. Things had started out well enough. I had met her while I was stationed in Germany, and she had followed me to Torii Station in Okinawa. The work was...boring. Petroleum Supply Specialist sounded fancy on paper, when I was eighteen at the local recruiting station my parents had dropped me off at in downtown Raleigh. In reality, it was damn dirty, monotonous work, but I stuck it out for five long years. After all, what else was I going to do? After my enlistment term ended, I found work at a small publishing company in Osaka as a translator. Even the most uneducated dolt can learn a language pretty well if you're constantly surrounded by it, and although it didn't pay much, it paid the bills. And so, our life was fairly simple; how one imagines life should be. I went to work from nine to five, stayed late on occasion. Hilde fussed over our apartment and went out and spent all my money on occasion. There were the weekly phone calls to the parents, monthly trips to the beach. Life was pleasant enough, I thought. But apparently, my partner hadn't felt the same, and now the damn goldfish was dead.

I really couldn't blame her, I guess. I did ignore her constant hounding to take better charge of our future prospects, or even have future prospects for that matter. What can I say? It's hard for me to see beyond tomorrow. And I can't help but wonder why one should even bother. They said it best in an old horror movie I saw when I was a bit younger. "We all float down here..." Stupid goldfish. You were Hilde's idea.

I didn't bother changing out of my office clothes. After unceremoniously flushing my aquatic friend to the great beyond, I left that sad little apartment, eking of loneliness, and drove straight to the nearest bar. It occurred to me after parking that I could have just walked. You really couldn't throw a stone in Osaka without hitting a watering hole of some kind, and I don't think I had driven a mile before I pulled into some obviously old, but well kept joint. But I wasn't a drinker, so I'd never really paid attention to where bars were located. Hell, I wasn't even a smoker, but that night, I was bound and determined to be everything that the world had to offer. Two shots later, I thought I was pretty alright. Five shots later, I was pretty sure I could fly. Two beers and another three shots later, I had no idea where I was. I handed over my bank card without any hesitation to any vendor of every sort. Everywhere I went, I threw cigarettes and bought rounds like it was going out of style. I imagine I was quite popular for a while. But eventually, the escort sitting on my lap's face began to blur, her bright red lipstick streaking across my vision as she spoke all those scripted, phony niceties I don't even recall now. The generic lounge music began to slow, till everything sounded like one giant, screaming wad, annoying, and stuck in my ears like old gum. I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat. I stood abruptly, the girl dropping to the floor with a little cry of protest.

"Gotta run," was all I offered. Then I left. That is, I left directly after the owner pulled me back in to pay the tab. I handed over my card again and told him to be careful, because it was hot. He didn't get it.

It was well past midnight, and the intent had been to walk back to my car, but I couldn't see more than two feet in front of me, and one dark, empty street kept leading to another. The night air was cool and moist, and helped to soothe my aching head a little. I could hear the droning of the tug boat horns, so I guessed I must be somewhere close to the harbor, a far cry from where I parked, I'm sure. Suddenly, I desperately needed to see the sight of water, so I stumbled my way towards the docks, and leaned against the rope railing to peer into the black and swirling mass. I wondered, briefly, if my poor goldfish's body had made it out to the sea. I leaned further over the railing, letting my weight rest against the rope entirely. I was sad for my fishy pal, but I couldn't help but feel a little envious. All of his small troubles were over. What was I going to do with myself? I could easily have leaned over those ropes and become part of the nothingness I'd always perceived to be just beyond my consciousness, and I would be lying if I said no small part of me wanted to. However, proper suicide etiquette required I leave a note, at least for my poor parents, and I was far too lazy to go home, write it, and remember my intent. It was not lost on me that besides my wife, there was no one beyond my parents who would even notice me leaving this world, and that kind of chafed. But there was also no one to blame but myself.  
>I sighed, deeply, and took a step back, loosening my tie. That was the extent of my pitiful rebellion against life; get drunk, waste all my money, and then go get lost on the outskirts of Osaka in the middle of a Wednesday night. Christ, I had to get up for work in the morning.<p>

'I sure showed the world a thing or two,' I thought glumly, and stumbled back in what I hoped would become the direction of my car. In reality, it was towards a short flight of steps down a basement alley way that would immediately change the course of my life forever. I didn't even see them, all I knew was that I was falling. A few bumps on the head later, I was flat on my back, willing the world to stop spinning. Something was blinding me, and there was a faint clinking echoing in my ears. As I slowly gained my focus, I could see the fuzzy light of a street lamp above. Moths kept stubbornly flying into it, and I could hear their futile attempts again and again. I also became aware of the muted sound of music coming from one of the broken down buildings nearby. With more effort than it should have taken, I rolled to the side, immediately feeling a dull throbbing in my head. After vomiting everything I had drank and ate in the past 24 hours, and then some, I staggered to my feet. The surrounding area was in shambles, completely abandoned, no doubt after the latest economy crash. Who was playing music in an abandoned building in the middle of the night? It was not normally my custom to go poking around isolated, dark parts of the city, but what the hell. I was curious and I figured I didn't have too much to lose.

Drawing closer, I could tell the sound was coming from a little pink building in the alley way, sandwiched amongst all the other dilapidation. It occurred to me that parts of the city looked like building blocks haphazardly stacked together by a child. This building in particular looked like an old strip club. I could barely make out the faded characters on the door; parts of it had worn away with time. "Pink Dreams..." Cute. I leaned against the door and found it open, so I walked into the foyer. The music was certainly louder inside, and I must confess that I had never heard anything quite like it. The guitar sounded so mournful, and whoever was on the keyboard was positively haunting. A voice began to echo through the rooms, sad and lilting, and I felt my chest grow heavy, compressed so that I could scarcely breathe. It was a hypnotic, dream like sound that made me feel so nostalgic, though I was sure I was hearing it for the first time. It was beautiful, and I was intrigued. I was no music buff, but I listened to and dabbled with instruments enough to know amazing things when I heard them. Like one of those silly moths outside, I was gone, and walked steadily towards the stage room, crushing broken glass along the way. Beginning to feel dizzy from the fall, the alcohol, or a combination of both, I peered into the room, leaning against the door frame for support. There he was. I don't remember how his hair looked, or what he was wearing, but I remember his hands. He stood near the front of the stage, leaning against a dancing pole, looking as if his body and the instrument he held were weightless. His hands moved so effortlessly, with such precision and grace. I wasn't sure if it was the lighting, but sometimes it looked as if there were no bones in his hands at all. His fingers flew across the strings, bending and twisting in ways I didn't think possible. All the while he continued to sing, and I continued to listen and stare. Things stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. I was certain that in that time, we were the only two people who existed in the world. At least, we were until I lost my balance and stumbled forward into the room.

Everything came to a screeching halt, and I could feel several pairs of eyes upon me.

"Please excuse me," I babbled, still trying to keep my balance now that I had no support. "I didn't mean to intrude, I was just passing by, well not really passing by, I fell down some steps-" I was starting to swoon. "And I heard music, so, um, I...," Everything was spinning again and my head was aching terribly. I took a step backwards, unable to swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes tearing up for some ungodly reason. "I'm so sorry, I'll be on my way."

"Wait! Are you alright?" a man stood from behind the drum set, his serious tone was etched with a bit of concern. Great, now I was making a complete ass out of myself.

"Oh, yes! I'm fine! This is all my goldfish's fault. Well, it's not really mine. Stupid thing! Ha ha!" I continued to stumble backwards.

"Why the fuck is he talking about goldfish?" A very skeptical, effeminate voice came from behind the keyboard.

"He needs a doctor. I think he bumped his head too hard," a deeper voice standing nearby confirmed. I was completely mortified by now.

"Thank you, no. I'm fine, really! So sorry again! Bye!" I turned and made it one step forward before falling flat on my face.

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><p>I opened my bleary eyes, squinting at the sunlight streaming in from a nearby window. My head hurt like a bitch. I tentatively reached up my hand to touch my forehead, and found a large bandage covering it. The events of last night suddenly returned to me in a flash, and I sat up quickly, alarmed. This was not my apartment. Unfortunately, I sat up a little too quickly, and the sudden movement made me feel like someone was pummeling my brains. It took all of my self control not to vomit again right then and there.<p>

"Please, guy, not on my couch," a larkish plea startled me from across the room. I squinted and saw a thin man, not too much shorter than myself, leaning against the kitchen counter that separated the two rooms. He had tousled, dark brown hair but very blue eyes, and wore a red candy striped shirt that made me dizzy just looking at it. I wasn't quite sure who he was, until he unfolded his arms and I saw his hands. I fought the slight blush creeping up my cheeks, sincerely praying to any god out there that the man had not noticed me staring at him like some stalker for a good portion of the night. He regarded me with a mischievous smirk, and picked up a mug from the counter.

"Here, " he walked across the room and held out the cup. "Drink this, it'll help. Smells awful, I know."

"Not at all, thank you." I gratefully accepted the warm tea, although the extremely bitter taste did catch me off guard at first. But something about it was soothing to my aching head. "It's good," I nodded, and continued to drink. "I can't thank you enough for your kindness," I gestured to the bandage on my head.

"Well, you know," he shrugged and slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, the whole movement looking somewhat oddly coquettish, "The guys said we should just drop you off at the local hospital, but your head didn't look that bad. Alcohol was the main culprit; I think you just can't hold your liquor," he finished with a grin.

"You would be right," I chuckled. "I will not be repeating that mistake any time soon."

"Ah, but no man should be alone and sober after his goldfish dies," his voice was full of mock solemnity.

"Oh, god..." I moaned, putting my face in my hands.

"You cried about that damn thing all night!" he laughed, sitting on the arm of the couch next to me. "At least, I think it's yours. You couldn't seem to make up your mind if it was yours or your 'whore of a wife's'. Either way, I had to hug you and reassure you that it was in gold fish heaven for two hours!"

"I didn't!" I protested weakly, shaking my head. Man, if the guys in my old unit could see what I'd degenerated into. The man simply shrugged again at my denial and jumped to his feet.

"Well, in any case," he plucked at the knee of his jeans, "Based upon your medical condition, I'm prescribing one serving of pancakes with syrup and an egg."

"Oh, you're my doctor now, are you?" I rose as well, suddenly becoming aware that I was no longer wearing my clothes from the night before. He saw my look of utter confusion and held up his hands.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." He dashed out to the landing behind a screen door and retrieved my shirt and pants from a clothes line. "Here. Sorry if I took liberties; they were sort of-,"

"Don't!" I held up my hand quickly stopping him, cringing at what I presumed he was about to say. He just held them out to me with another smirk.

"Call your work, shower, change." he commanded, succinctly, jerking his thumb toward a door to the far side of the living room. He then turned on his heel walked to the kitchen, as if there was no question I'd do exactly as he said. I did, of course, but still. After calling and letting my work know that I was too ill to come in, I felt dirty enough to warrant taking a shower in the cocky stranger's latrine. When I emerged, dressed once again in my own clothes, I could hear the Pixies on the cassette player, and the usual noises of someone cooking. The man was somehow managing to use the stove, talk on the phone, and smoke a cigarette all at the same time. I tucked my poplar shirt in and leaned against the far wall to wait. Every movement he made possessed a natural elegance, like a swan unfolding it's neck. But he also moved quickly, precisely; his hands like a snake striking. Like a strange dance, he spun in and out of the long phone cord with the receiver tucked under his chin and into his left shoulder.

"You can't take the piano solo out, it's supposed to be foreshadowing. Of course it fits with the rest of the album, you fucking seagull!" Catching sight of me out of the corner of his eye, he waved a spatula toward a stool next to the long counter, and I sat down. "Stop shitting over everything, already!" He rolled his eyes very slowly and took a long drag off his cigarette. I could see the ring finger on his right hand tapping the counter in exasperation. "We'll talk about it later, Wufei. I gotta cut and run...What?...I take our musical endeavors very seriously!...ouch, that really hurt, guy!" He grinned and winked at me. "Okay, okay, boss man. Uh-huh...See you then." He practically threw the phone back into the cradle with an exaggerated sigh. "That guy... needs... to relax," his words were comically deliberate. I didn't really know one way or the other, so I stayed silent. He didn't seem to mind, and continued working on breakfast. The smell of the butter and pancakes overpowered the smoke from his cigarette, and my stomach involuntarily grumbled quite loudly. "Heard that."

"Eh-heh. Sorry. Kinda lost my dinner last night, I guess," I grinned, taking the plate he extended.

"This smells great, thanks."

"Well, of course it does," he dusted off his hands and lit another cigarette from his back pocket. "I made it, after all."

I laughed and so did he. He left me to make a pot of coffee, and I looked around as I chewed. The apartment was small, but the stark colors and smooth metal surfaces reflected the light made it seem spacious enough. One, lone bamboo plant dominated the counter I sat at and seemed to have done so for quite some time. Everything was neat and tidy, except for one corner in the sitting room where a piano sat. The Gibson he'd used last night leaned up against it, and various musical sheets and scribbled notes were pinned to the wall and scattered across the floor. I swallowed, and turned to him.

"You write all the music for the band?" I asked, feeling proud to finally initiate some conversation.

"For the most part, yeah. Kind of just comes easy to me, I guess. But," and he sighed again, "As you heard, there is always a bit of 'tweaking'," his fingers made quote marks in the air.

"What's the name of your band?"

"Sexy Sizzlers Sixty-Nine." My eyes grew unintentionally large and my fork hit the plate.  
>"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he got a good chuckle at the face I made. It was a reverberating sound that emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, and you couldn't help but also smile when you heard it. "So it Goes."<p>

I took another bite of fluffy, syrupy goodness. "Reminds me of that book. You know, the one by Vonnegut?"

"Never heard of it. You read a lot, erm...?"

"Oh!" I threw down my fork and stood up extending my hand. I'd been so caught up in the moment, I'd completely forgotten to introduce myself. "Duo. Duo Maxwell."

He grinned at my completely American introduction and gesture, and after eyeing my hand for a split second, took it in a firm handshake. "Heero. Where are you from, Duo?"

"North Carolina."

"Ah," I didn't see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "So, you read a lot?"

"Not particularly," I shrugged, sitting back down. "But on all those nights I was banished to the couch, it sure made falling asleep a lot easier."

He laughed at my explanation. "I see," he snorted, lighting another cigarette. He certainly enjoyed those more than anyone I'd ever met.

"How about you?" I clasped my hands in front of me, thumbing at the nail on my opposite finger. "I know a guy isn't this neat."

"Well, I suppose this guy is. I do have a special lady in my life, though."

"I hope she doesn't mind the intrusion," I said, a little nervously.

"You're awfully apologetic for an American," he observed, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. He put it out in the sink. "But no. Since she's been sitting by your feet for a good five minutes, I'd say you're in the clear."

I hastily looked down to see a sleek and shiny furred Siamese cat. It looked up at me with enormous blue eyes, and we regarded each other silently for a moment.

"Well, hey there, gorgeous!" I leaned down to scratch behind the cat's ears. "Aren't you a pretty little thing."

The creature hissed, and after taking a deft swat at my hand, ran under the sofa. "Aisha!" Hero practically bellowed. He stomped after the thing like it was a disobedient two year old and boldly reached an arm under the couch. Within seconds, he had the cat by the scruff and lifted her up under her front legs so that they were eye to eye. The cat looked very unhappy, and it's ears lay flat against it's head, but it did nothing to resist it's owner. "What have we talked about? We don't hiss and scratch guests."

"I can't say I blame her," I called over. "I'd probably deck someone if they tried to put their hand on my head. I mean, unless I knew them. You know what? Never mind." I shut my mouth, feeling more than a little stupid, as both Heero and Aisha stared at me. The cat let out a low, throaty meow. Heero flashed a sly grin.

"Aisha says she's very sorry," he said, tucking the thing under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

"Apology accepted," I muttered, feeling like the whole situation was pretty stupid, in general.

"Let me get you a bandage."

"Thanks," I absently brought the cut on my hand to my mouth, tasting that familiar, salty taste.

"So that's your girlfriend, huh?"

"Currently, yeah. Last few relationships didn't work out so well. Here you go." He tossed a box from the kitchen drawer in my direction. "Thinking about giving up on the idea of human companionship all together."

"I feel ya there, buddy. More trouble than it's worth, right?"

"Exactly."

We could be so pleasantly, ridiculously idiotic back then.

"So, you liked what you heard last night? You must of; you stood there for forty minutes," he seated himself across from me and gazed directly into my eyes. I tried not to glance away, but it was no use.

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome, man," I said in all earnestness. "Been a long time since I heard music I liked that much. I really wasn't trying to spy, I didn't think anyone saw me."

"I was the only one that did."

"Oh..." So, Heero had been watching me the entire time I was watching him, or more precisely, his fingers. Not that I was going to mention that part.

"But I'm flattered you enjoyed it," his voice sounded genuinely pleased, as if my opinion actually mattered. A warm feeling began to emanate from deep within my chest. "We have to practice at night a lot, because most of us have day jobs. But that's all about to change. We finally landed a gig at GLIB down 6th."

I knew the place. Pretty trendy club; my wife and I had been once when it first opened. Or rather, my wife had dragged me and I scowled the entire time. "Congratulations! That place is pretty spiffy."

Heero leaned back in his chair, looking very pleased. But his smile quickly turned to a frown. "It's great, but everything fell into place a little too fast."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we were trying to hold auditions for another guitarist, but now there's really no time. We play next week."

"Ah. That sucks." I tapped my fingers lightly across the counter, and his eyes darted toward them. Oops.

"You don't happen to play, do you?"

I laughed, but he wasn't laughing, so I stopped. "Well, I used to play a little bit. Nothing too fancy, you know?"

"Perfect!" He leapt to his feet and, before I could blink twice, a cheap, Yamaha guitar was thrust into my unguarded hands. I stared, blankly, down at it like I'd never seen one before in my entire life. "Play something," he ordered. I shrugged and thought for more than a moment. It wasn't that I was trying to recollect which songs I knew, more so just trying to figure out which one to pick. I settled for that Procol Harum song, Whiter Shade of Pale. It took a moment for my fingers to become accustomed to the foreign instrument, and it had been quite a while since the last time I played. It started out a bit painfully, and more than a little out of tune, but slowly, my hands remembered the movements and it sounded halfway decent by the time I finished. Heero sat perfectly still the entire "audition", watching me. Needless to say, it made me just a little self conscious, especially since I could see him criticizing every little chord I plucked and strummed, his eyes burning with unusually intense concentration. I held the guitar out to him, and he quickly snapped out of his trance like state. He rocked back on his heels as he rested the body of the instrument on the floor.

"You're just awful!" he gushed, quite cheerfully. I shrugged and scratched the back of my head with a stupid grin.

"Um, yeah, it's been a while."

"You're hired!"

"What?" my voice went completely flat with bewilderment.

"You've got the spot, if you want it. I want you in the band."

"You just said I was awful," I reminded him.

"I'll teach you everything you need to know."

"You just said that you only have one week!"

"I'm a REALLY good teacher," he folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, challenging me to say anything more.

"But-"

"Look, stop fucking arguing with me about what I said!" he snapped, taking a step toward me as if we were about to come to blows. I instinctively moved away, almost raising my fists in defense. I was pretty sure Heero did not realize just how hard I could hit. Something about being in the military makes your bones denser, and all the give gradually gets beat out of you. "Just say yes."

I pursed my lips together. He didn't move a muscle. It seemed like an easy enough request.

"Okay, we'll give it a shot, but I think you're gonna regret this pretty soon," I warned.

"You're kind of down on yourself. I see LOTS of potential. And," he held up a finger for emphasis, "if all else fails, you can just get by on your good looks."

"You're pretty forward for being Japanese," I told him. He lit another cigarette, blowing smoke up into my face.

"Fuck that shit."

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><p>If you rode your bike fast enough down the hill on St. Andrews, you could almost make it all the way up the next one on Bartholomew's, without pedaling. The mail box was a mile down the driveway, and a beat up, little gas station had the best Coke flavored Slush-Puppies you ever tasted. That's how it was growing up near Dunn, in a small shack of a home, with grandparents that leaned, ever so slightly, back and forth in distressed, creaky rockers on the front porch, watching the fireflies come out of the tall grass in the dwindling heat of July evenings.<p>

"Duo, honey, look at that one o'er there," my grandpa pointed to one of the little lights that kept blinking twice. "See, son, the males blink twice, and the females blink once to let im' know they heard the message loud and clear."

"What message, gramps?" I asked, already bored as I stretched out my gangly, fourteen year old limbs across the boards at his feet.

"Why, that she's ready for a little of that sweet honey he's got!" the old man laughed heartily, showing every gap where a tooth should be.

"Really, Don!" my grandmother chided. "You shouldn't talk 'bout things to such a youngin'!"

"What? He knows 'bout the birds and the bees, doncha boy?"

"Yes, Gramps..."

"But there's more to it than that, yeah?" he slapped his gnarled fingers, thinly veiled in translucent skin, but still firm, on my shoulder. "Duo, son, listen here, there's something else out ther'," he pointed with his other hand to nothing in particular. "Yes sir, there's an love impostor! They have a light too, and they lure them poor males to their doom! Lookie, there!" I gazed back out at the tiny lights dancing across the lawn. "I'll bet even you can't tell the difference...Well, can ya?"

* * *

><p>Before I knew it, I was pacing back and forth in front of the back door to an obviously western styled building, a club for all the indies of the time, no doubt. I wasn't thinking about that, though. I was busy running through every note in my head. I'd practised with Heero almost every day, and had listened to his lessons like they were mission briefings and my life depended on it. It kind of did, because I was pretty sure I was going to die of embarrassment that night. I felt a light tug on the back of my jacket. Heero was leaning completely at east against the railing, smoking what I hoped to be some new kind of cigarette. It certainly had an interesting enough smell. He held it out to me more as a command than an offer. Desperate to calm my nerves, I quickly took a puff and handed it back. My eyes immediately watered, and I coughed a few times, but it did help. Heero tossed the butt in the back parking lot and grasped my shoulders firmly, wrapping his thin fingers around them. "You'll be fine."<p>

"Right."

"After all, you were in the U.S. Army. What could be scarier than that?"

"Humiliation," I said, frankly.

"What you got to lose that you're so afraid of a bunch of teenagers and college kids?" he laughed, jerking his thumb toward the building. I laughed, too. It seemed pretty silly when he put it that way, but that wasn't it.

I don't want to let you down.

I didn't say it, but I wore the message on every inch of my face. He locked eyes with me and smiled. It wasn't his usual, playful smirk; it was quite brilliant. But as quickly as it had come, it vanished. "Alright, grasshopper, we're on."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and followed him inside. There was already loud music blasting from the speakers, as young socialites danced and drank amidst the darkness and strobe lights. We quickly and quietly set up our equipment and stood at the ready. I just kept my eyes on Heero, like a lost child. Trowa gave me a nod as he plucked through a few scales and rifts on his bass. Wufei felt the need to shake my hand again, ensure me I'd do fine with a total lack of sincerity, and then purse his lips and look me over like he wanted to change everything about me. Quare simply ignored me altogether, smacking on bubble gum and bobbing his black curls along to the music already playing. Heero simply stood with his head bowed low, as if in some silent form of prayer. And seemingly and eternity later, the lights all went out. I couldn't see a damn thing. I really didn't need to. I heard the harsh tapping of Wufei's drumsticks, heard Quatre's fingers climbing the scales on the keys, and closed my eyes. I raised my hand up high, and let it fall across the strings like a guillotine.

"This is all happening as we dream," Heero called through the microphone to the silent crowd. His fingers began to dance across the board and strings. Ambient lights began to flutter behind us. I tried to ignore them. His voice had an eerie, foreign quality, and it drifted over the crowd, hypnotizing them for a few moments. But when I struck a loud chord again, and Heero quickly picked up with the main rhythm, they began to scream. It all became a blur, no beginning and no end, spinning round and round. I felt immense sound vibrating off my skin, along with the echo of my rapid heart beat. It was something beyond any drug I'd ever experienced, such was the sensory overload, and my hands, if they were indeed still playing, were moving on instinct alone. All throughout, the only thing I could hear was Heero's clear voice, which cut through the noise confusion like a knife and kept us all centered. And we rocked it, song after song.

An hour and a half past, and the song we'd just played was our last. Without skipping a beat or losing an ounce of his energetic countenance, Heero thanked the crowd, nothing but smiles, and they went nuts. They threw their hats and gloves in the air; they clapped and stomped their feet. I felt as if I'd run the iron-man. I'd never been so exhausted! Even in all my army days, I couldn't recall doing something so strenuous. Well, not mentally, anyway, and that's the only kind of activity that really wears me out. Heero was fist pumping the air, like a hero from the glory days, and like a jackalope, he bounded next to me and put his arm around my neck. I let him tug me around in his victory spin, trying to catch my breath. I guessed I'd done alright, and the immense relief made me giddy. I returned his hug, feeling a good ten years younger than I was, and the rest of the band was soon sharing our circle. Quatre couldn't stop jumping up and down and waving to the crowd, continuing to entertain them with his cute antics. Wufei put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a firm shake and nod. I'd finally earned a little of his respect. Trowa had a small smile on his face as he mock saluted me. I saluted back. It was the best night of my life.

* * *

><p>"Duo, a woman called today, long distance from Housten," Hilde sat at the kitchen table, carefully painting her toenails a shiny metallic blue, her dark eyebrows furrowed with deep concentration.<p>

"No kidding," I sat down on the bench next to the front door and unlaced my snow covered boots. Muddy ice flew everywhere.

"Oh, Duo, my love, I just cleaned!" Hilde wailed, jumping from her chair and rushing to fetch a rag. She always called me "love" when she was pissed. I always found that rather odd.

"I got it, I got it!" I cried apologetically, holding out my hand. She handed me the towel. "Sorry, babe." I wiped up all the melting ice, throwing the bigger chunks out the door.

"Just pay more attention, yah?" Her German accent peeked out in her frenzied state. I grinned.

"Sure thing. Sorry, I was thinking about today. A soldier in my platoon went missing this afternoon. First Sergeant was all up in my ass about it, but we finally found him asleep behind the supply shed. Know what I did?"

Hilde peered up from her resumed perch on the edge of the chair. "What?" her eyes were round with curiosity. I leaned forward with an evil grin.

"I tied his laces together, and then I went and got the First Sergeant. We woke him up with a practice grenade! Rolled that sucker right next to his boots!"

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did! That private leapt twenty feet in the air, then fell flat on his face!"

"You're terrible!" she giggled, holding the back of her hand to her nose.

"Maybe, but he'll never sleep on duty again, I can promise you that. First Sergeant cussed him out to next week."

"Oi..." she shook her head, and resumed painting. I walked to the small fridge and pulled out the bottle of orange juice. I got my favorite cup, a tall, pub glass, and began to pour.

"Who was it that called?" I asked absently, watching the thick liquid swirl around as the glass filled.

"Oh yes, um, Solo I think it was."

"What?" I froze, feeling all the oxygen rush out of my body.

"A ummmm...Ms. Solo? She said you served with her son in the Gulf?" I couldn't stop my my left hand from nervously rapping the counter top. My knuckles began to strike more and more violently, until I pressed against them with my right hand and closed my eyes. Hilde continued.  
>"She really wants you to call her back, she was most...insistent," she raised her eyebrows for emphasis. "So I put her number next to the phone."<p>

"I re-, ahem, really don't know what she's talking about," I recovered after my voice cracked.

* * *

><p>No one slept that night. We all sat around at Wufei's bar, shooting the shit and talking about the performance. Heero was beaming at me and happily took full credit for my debut into the musical world. I was just happy he was happy.<p>

The next morning, while I was attempting to stay awake at my work and chewing on some toast, the phone began to ring. I swallowed my bite and picked it up. "Duo here."

"Duo, it's Wufei. I just got a call from a scouting agent for Warner Music. How would you like to make the band a full time job?" Wufei certainly wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"Well, let me think about that," I said, swishing the coffee around in my old, favorite over-sized mug. It was one my recruiter had given me when I first enlisted. Somehow, my parents held on to it, and it wound up in my possession again. The Army logo had long ago worn away, but I still appreciated how much coffee it could hold. I glanced back at my computer screen. I thought about my career choices up to this point. "Rock star" would certainly be a big deviation from the norm. I took another sip of coffee, wondering just how long Wufei would wait for my deliberation.

"Gods, man, I haven't got all day, you know!" he made no effort to hide his irritation. "To be perfectly frank, I think we could find another guitarist, but Heero's quite insistent that it HAS to be you."

"Really? Why?" I wondered aloud. I could see Wufei rolling his eyes in my head.

"I really don't know what goes on in his crazy little mind, but I do know that he is irreplaceable, so whatever he wants, I try my damnedest to get, and right now he wants you...to be a permanent member of the band," he hastily added. "So, what do you say? We could be big."

And I'd thought my little week long trip into wonderland was ending. It was odd to think it could only just be beginning. I sipped my coffee again, and Heero's eyes flashed through my mind.  
>"I'll do it."<p>

"Good. Quit your current, fucking job and get some sleep," his voice was instantly all business. "We convene tomorrow morning, bright and early. All our lives are about to drastically change. Be ready."

He hung up without waiting for a reply. I slowly let the receiver fall in it's cradle and leaned back in my chair. Be ready...I was always prepared for life, right? I stretched my arms over my head and closed my eyes, seeing his again. Here goes nothing!

I wrote a short, polite letter of resignation, handed it to my director with a bow, collected all my belongings, and left. Once home, I slept soundly for a very long time. I awoke to a knock on my door. It was seven...the next morning. I'd slept almost an entire day. Odd.

Feeling groggy from oversleep and dehydration, I stumbled to my front door to peek through the peep hole. A deep blue eye took up the entire circle, startling me fully awake. I opened the door.

"Morning, sunshine!" Heero walked right past me with a paper sack in his arms and into my kitchen. "You slept a long time. I called three times."

"Sorry about that," I scratched the back of my head. "Guess I must have needed it."  
>He seemed to be only half listening as he rifled through my cabinets for a pan. What the hell was he doing? "What the hell are you doing?" I yawned and stepped closer.<p>

"What's it look like? Making food." He pulled a box of pancake mix out the bag. Of course it was pancakes. My stomach started to growl, and I looked the other way, a little embarrassed.  
>"Heard that," he called over his shoulder, already mixing batter and cracking eggs into a bowl. I regarded him, silently. He seemed jittery, and there were dark circles under his eyes. If this past week was anything to go by, he probably hadn't slept at all. And now he was in my apartment, making pancakes...and drinking beer, which had just appeared from inside the bag. I looked at the clock to confirm that it was, indeed, seven in the morning, and not at night. I shrugged out my shoulders and walked to stand next to him.<p>

"Need any help? I used to help cook at my fob, sometimes."

"What's that?" his eye twitched rather than blinked at me, and he paused his harried whipping of the eggs. One of the pull strings from the hoodie he was wearing dangled dangerously close to the liquid.

"It's like a temporary base you set up in foreign territory."

"You've fought in a war?" he asked, sounding as if it was something quite unheard of.

"Yeah, my unit deployed during the Gulf War. I was over there from, well, pretty much start to finish."

He studied me, silently. I knew what he was thinking, I'd seen that look before. I was pretty sure of what the next words out of his mouth would be. "No, I don't need any help. Go shower or something," he commanded, turning away to his mixing again. Those eggs were going to be like eating a yellow sponge. When I didn't move, he shooed me away with his hand, then took a pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket. I smiled, shaking my head. If the crazy man wanted to make pancakes for me so badly that he'd shown up on my doorstep at seven in the morning, who was I to object? And I was certainly in need of a shower. I was pleased with the way he didn't seem to think my deployment was a big deal, after all. And I thought, as I rinsed and toweled off my hair, how glad I was he didn't ask THAT question...but isn't it a shame I thought about it all the same?

He was talking on my telephone when I emerged from my room. Glancing up at me from where he lay, he succinctly pointed to my small kitchen table, where my breakfast had been neatly laid out, and then crossed his legs and went right back to talking. He seemed to have made himself quite at home, all stretched out on my couch. It was like he'd always been there, and it wasn't an unpleasant notion. When Heero was there, I didn't feel that oppressive feeling of being totally alone. He reached over and spun Cleo's empty, little bowl around, absently, said goodbye, and hung up. I watched him as I ate a stack of pancakes and extremely fluffy eggs. He sat up and stretched his long arms toward the ceiling.

"So, we're going to have a meeting today about the band, right?" I asked between bites.  
>He looked at me like I was speaking Greek for a moment.<p>

"Ah! Yeah. Let's walk together after breakfast."

"You already ate?"

His only reply was to hold up his half finished pack of beer, as he opened the screen door on the porch and stepped out. I would have thought it would be all he wanted to talk about. After all, music seemed to be his life. And he'd bothered to come all the way over to make pancakes. Why would someone do that without any sort of conversation? He leaned over the railing with another cigarette, watching the cars speed by the highway. What sort of person was I dealing with, I wondered. I put my plate in the sink, and he flicked his butt into the street below and joined me. "Bring a jacket, it's cold," he informed me. "Let's not keep the boss-man waiting. Tends to make him a bit cranky."

The meeting was interesting, to say the least. We all sat in the small waiting area for quite a while in the temporary office rental. Wufei couldn't stop pacing. Trowa, who had been ever calmly leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, opened one and cleared his throat. "Wufei, you're going to wear out the floor. Just sit."

"Argh!" Wufei huffed, sitting down rather harshly in a leather cushioned seat. It let out a steady hiss of air from the sudden weight. "I wish he'd call us back, already!"

"Is it gonna be, like, a real record label?" Quatre asked, pausing in filing his nails. It still confused me to look at him with a wig on. At least today it was slightly more tamed and pulled back in a sort of half pony tail. He wore corduroy that were entirely too big and used a cord as a belt to scrunch them tightly around his waist, with a v-neck, dark red sweater. He looked like such a little kid to me. I wondered how someone so young always seemed to be out at all hours, day and night.

"That's what the man said," Wufei sighed, resting his chin on his fist. He glanced at me and Heero standing against the opposite wall. I was amusing myself by scraping at the dust on the leaves of a fake tree in the corner. "You both came here together?" I stopped my fidgeting.

"Yeah, Heero stopped by, earlier," I offered, not quite sure why he was asking. He simply nodded. But not seeing a better way to pass the time, he continued with his questions. Was I ever married, did I have a girlfriend, what was the Army like, did I fight in the latest war...?

"Did you ever kill anyone?" Every one's, except Heero's, eyes fell on me. I supposed I shouldn't make them wait too long, as they were obviously holding their breath.

"Yes." I said it simply, casually, like he was asking if I'd ever climbed a tree.

"Whoa...," Quatre breathed, dropping his hands to his lap. Trowa and Wufei both raised their eyebrows.

"How long have you lived here, Wufei?" He blinked at my obvious redirection of the conversation.

"About ten years. My father was a ferryman at the port in Shanghai. As soon as I was 16, I hopped on a boat to Okinawa. Been here ever since."

He must have been a shrewd business man to acquire a bar starting with nothing at such a young age. "It must have been hard living for a while."

"Yes, I nearly starved at one point," he chuckled. "Luckily, the previous owner of Faye's took me under his wing, taught me how to manage, and eventually let me take out a loan to buy the place. And then, this scraggly, ugly as sin, scrawny riff-raff showed up on my doorstep," he pointed at Heero, who grinned a chesire grin. "And the rest is history."

I'd not planned on sticking around too long, so I hadn't asked too many questions about the band's history. Now seemed like as good a time as any. "How about you, Trowa? How'd you get into the band?"

"I used to stop by Faye's after walking my beats every night," he told me, lazily stretching with his fingers interlocked. "And one particular night, a really quiet night, Heero brought his guitar out and was playing through several of his compositions behind the bar. I was really impressed, and mentioned that I played bass."

"I jumped on that," Heero interjected, finally joining the conversation. "I already knew Wufei played drums. The idea for a band was born."

"Only other thing e needed was a good keyboardist, and I just so happened to know a very gifted classical pianist, whom I thought just might be able to pull it off."

"Stop, you're making me blush," Quatre said rather unenthusiastically.

"You play classical piano?" I couldn't mask the surprise in my voice. I had a hard time picturing the tiny cross dresser performing Chopin or Liszt.

"Yeah, my mom was a huge fan of the piano before she died. I tried to keep it up through school."

"Are you out of high school?"

"Technically, I believe I'm a drop out," he said, flatly.

"For all that matters once you sign a record deal," Heero comforted.

"Thanks, Mr. Julliard."  
>"Wait, what? You went to Julliard?" my eyes were huge.<p>

"So he says," Quatre gave a little toss of his head.

"It's true," Heero shrugged, not really caring to make a case for himself. "Didn't say I finished."

"Oh," Quatre tapped my shoulder to bring my attention back around. "And didn't you also know that he modeled and has millionaire parents that he has disowned to the point of near ruin and homelessness," Quatre made air quotations as he spoke. He glanced slyly in Heero's direction.

"Did I leave anything out?"

"Oh, I don't know. I took ballet for a few years and I can type REALLY fast."

"I fucking hate you," Quatre hissed.

"No, seriously!" Heero raised his hands in defense, shrugging his shoulders high. "My parents stuck me in this boring ass, career guidance class in high school. All I did was dick around on the typing tutor the entire time. I can type, like, 135 words per minute."

Quatre shook his head and rolled his eyes. I looked at him, quirking a brow. It was possible, but...

"I know, it sounds crazy," he grinned at me. "It doesn't really matter one way or the other."

"Well, it's pretty undeniable you fucking rock at guitar, so I don't care if you're the biggest liar on the planet," Quatre crossed his legs and surveyed all the work he'd done on his nails.

Heero just laughed. He seemed to take all this poking at him in stride. The door to the office finally opened, and a rather tense, but pleasant enough man ushered us in after apologizing for the wait. Wufei assure him it was no trouble at all. Nakamura Ken was his name, and he was the scouting agent for this particular district. He lit a cigar as he spoke behind his desk. I always imagined more portly men to be cigar smokers. It looked a little absurd on this bookish, nervous individual, with thick rimmed glasses and combed over hair, but that was just my humble opinion. Of course, it was a green light for Heero to go ahead and light a smoke of his own. I looked around to see if anyone else was going to follow suit. Apparently Heero was the only smoker in an otherwise non-smoking band.

"Gentlemen, I'll be frank with you, it's been quite a while since I've heard someone on your level. Let's face it, music's gotten a little, well, cheap and dirty. Anything to make a quick buck," he glanced at each of us over his frames as he spoke. "I think you could add some real integrity back to the business." Not really knowing what to say, we all just nodded and kept silent. Nakamura didn't seem to mind. "That being said," he drew out a large stack of papers from his bottom desk drawer, "I'd like to present you with an official offer from Warner Music for a one year contract with our record company." We all held our breath. Well, all of us except for Heero. He was puffing away on his cigarette, studying a poster from some play, cheaply framed, on the wall. Looked like just a pair of yellow cat eyes to me. "I've already shown some of your work to my producer," he turned to Wufei. I assumed Wufei had given him a recording of some of our practise sessions from the past week. Perhaps he'd been sending tapes to companies for a long time, now, and was finally getting the break he'd always dreamed of. Something told me that was probably the case. "And he's very excited about your sound and look," okay, pictures too. "And he thinks you would be huge in today's market. So, what do you say, gentlemen? Would you care to look over the paper work?"

Wufei took the stack of papers extended in his hand with a small bow and Trowa, Quatre and I crowded closer to see. "What's that poster from?" Heero asked quite suddenly, pointing with his free hand.

"Oh, uh, I believe it's from a Broadway musical, titled the same, "CATS", by a Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber. It is very popular throughout the world, Mr. Yuy."

"Call me Heero."

"Uh, yes sir."

Heero shook his head and put out his smoke. He then joined us in peering at the contract. It seemed our time would be pretty much booked for the next year, if we signed. First, we'd produce the record, then there would be extensive promoting and appearances after the release. If it sold well enough, we would start touring with other bands to open for them.

"Wait a minute," Heero tapped a line on the page. "It says we can't play locally anymore. That's no good."

"Heero, what are you talking about?" Wufei hissed in a low voice.

"Yes, as Warner Music would own the rights to your music, you only would be allowed to play through our venues," Nakamura confirmed. I sucked air through my teeth, fairly certain that signing away rights to his music was the last thing Heero wanted to do. It was, after all, mostly his creations, and I was beginning to realize why he wasn't enthused about coming here. Heero stared straight ahead. I could tell the gears in his head were spinning at the speed of light.

"What about after the contract is up?"

"Whatever you create afterwards will belong to you. But if I may inform you, your music will reach an infinitely larger audience by signing with us, and the more popular an artist is, the more bargaining power they have with the record company. Try not to think of it as Warner Music trying to cage you; we're just protecting our own interests. We have to make a living too, right?"

"Of course you do," Wufei nodded with a side glance at Heero. Heero took out another smoke.

"If Wufei says it's a good idea, I'm in."

"Me too," Trowa added.

"Me three," Quatre jumped out of the chair, raising his hand.

Everyone turned to me. I put my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. "Well, guess I'm in too."

"Wonderful! Let's go over the contract together, and I'll call for some refreshment."

He made it sound so short and simple. It took the entire next two days to get through all the nitty gritty details, but by the end of it, I suppose we were bonafide rock stars. After all, we had a piece of paper that said so. What a deal!

* * *

><p>It spread like wildfire throughout Japan. Our faces were plastered all over the pop culture magazines and billboards. Footage from our performances and music videos cycled constantly on the T.V.. I had to admit, the people at Warner Music knew their business. It was not long before everyone new So it Goes' name, was humming our tunes, taping them off the radio or buying our cassettes and Cd's. We toured all over Japan. I helped Heero translate some of the songs in English and we began touring Europe as well. I'd seen Germany and a few surrounding countries on weekend trips while stationed there, but it was all pretty new to everyone else.<p>

Trowa hovered over Quatre like a nervous mother cat would a small kitten. You know how they scatter and wander when they're really small, and the mother cat runs around all wide-eyed and panicked, constantly picking them up in her mouth by their scruff and setting them down in a corner or box, only to have them wander off again? That's what it reminded me of. Our little diva had a very large female, as well as male, following with his ambiguous type of beauty, and Trowa on more than one occasion, felt the need to get between Quatre and a little TOO adoring follower. Rumors about their relationship were all over the gossip columns. I think the whole thing irked Trowa on a small level, but Quatre seemed to be getting a huge kick out of the whole affair, as well as the fact that no one seemed to be able to confirm his true gender. Wufei got his own special following from China, especially from his old home town. I suppose I was the "exotic" member, being the only one not Asian. It was an interesting role to play, "The American", as I was called, and many things found their way back to me. I was "too pretty" to be American. They thought it was badass I was a soldier, (I started wearing my old dog tags on the outside of my shirt, which seemed to please them), they loved my hair, I had no proper bearing in public, (but that was okay, because Americans are pretty ignorant as a general rule). All sorts of things. The real magnet, though, was Heero. People adored him, worshipped him everywhere he went. His talents and good looks and easy charm with people made him the instant favorite, and they were drawn to his energy, just as I had once been, every time he took to the stage. There was no doubt he was the heart and soul of the band. He still made something in my chest do a leap every time he performed. It was a crazy and wonderful time, and we found upon our return back home, that we were certainly not poor anymore.

After staying in hotels all over the world, it was a little odd coming home to my small little flat near the harbour. I retrieved my mail from my neighbor's, who congratulated me upon my success, even though they didn't really care for my music, (They were seventy or seventy-five, respectively) and I went to sleep on my little couch. I awoke at about two in the morning. The phone was ringing.

"Duo here," I yawned into the receiver.

"It's me," Heero's voice sounded anything but tired. Go figure. "Can I come over?"

"...Ok." There was instantly a knock at my door. "Hold on a second," I said, laying the phone down and quickly padding over to the door. I looked through the peep hole and saw, to my utter confusion, Heero standing there. I opened the door. "That was awfully fast," I commented, as he swept past me with a paper sack. I had a feeling I knew what was inside it. He then held up a bulky, black, rectangular box of some sort. It looked like an overgrown walkie-talkie. "What's that?"

"A mobile phone," he informed me. "Now I can call almost anyone from almost anywhere, anytime. Always wanted one. Neat, huh?"

"Was that on the box?" I smirked, taking the hefty thing from him to weigh it in my hand. "How are you supposed to carry this thing around?" He stuck out his hip, where there hung an accompanying pouch. "Ah..." I reached the grocery sack, which now sat on the counter, and took out a beer.

"I see I finally brought you over to the dark side," he smiled.

"I'm pretty sure I already had one foot in," I mused, taking a sip. I was glad to see him. Spending months recording and crowded on a small bus and in multiple hotels had not diminished that pleasant and content feeling I felt when he was near. And now that we were back, maybe I wouldn't have to see his awful cat, which he insisted on bringing with us, all the time. I hated that thing.

"So, what now?" I asked, handing him the pan I knew he was about to search for. He lit a cigarette and shrugged.

"Who knows? These past few months have been a little crazy, even for me. It'll be nice to have some time off. Time to play just for ourselves again." He fished around for his favorite spatula, shuffling utensils around noisily in the cheap, presswood drawer. I leaned against the counter behind him with my arms folded. "You're always watching me."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered, looking the opposite way out the window, quite suddenly.

"I wasn't asking for an apology," he mumbled back, without turning around. The slowest minute in the history of time eked by, one painful second at a time. "Am I really that interesting to look at?" he asked, "Or do you just think I'm hot?" There was a light and playful note in his voice. The T-shirt he was wearing was definitely tight enough to leave nothing to the imagination. Every sinewy muscle along his chest was outlined quite clearly, but that really wasn't it.

"I think you're beautiful," I said, absently, still staring at nothing through the window. The clinking in the kitchen stopped. I stopped breathing. Had I really just said that out loud? I knew he was staring at me, I could feel his eyes burning a hole straight through my head, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I jumped when I felt the icy grip of his cold hands on my face, and he forcibly turned my head towards him. There's a story by Rudyard Kipling about a mongoose, Ricki something or other. In it, a bird stares into a cobra's eyes and becomes completely paralyzed. I always thought that was so stupid when I read it as a kid. The dumb thing could have just flown away. But now, I'm pretty sure I know how that poor bird felt, as Heero pulled my face level to his. And then he kissed me. It was bizarre, the feeling that coursed through me. I felt like my entire body was on fire, and my legs were melting away, bringing me closer and closer to the floor. However, I soon got my bearing and pushed back, only to find that I was met with equal force. This was certainly different. At the time, I wasn't quite sure how to go about these things. Heero had absolutely no intention of taking any submissive role in this, a fact he made clear when he gripped my shirt and pulled me down hard enough to make me lose my footing and topple over. I didn't care. I loved feeling him. My hands wandered over his back, across his torso; everything about him was absolutely perfect. I found my way down to the back of his thighs, and he let out the most barely audible moan. It was really nothing more than a sharp exhale. I'd sensed it, though. We never quite got around to making pancakes that morning.

* * *

><p>Everything about the world seemed to have a special shine. I felt like I could just float away at any moment as I walked down the street with Heero by my side. They had Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade playing at a small theater that catered to soldiers stationed nearby. He'd wanted to see it, and I was more than happy to oblige, although, I did feel odd being surrounded by mostly Americans in BCU's again. I certainly kept my hands in my pockets and thanked the stars silently that Heero had opted for more traditional clothing that day. Never the less, he still attracted more than a few stares. Standing out was never really a good thing, and although I was retired military, military bearing still colored every action I took. I had tucked my hair inside my jacket before we left, and I walked a little taller and stood in line with my feet shoulder width apart, my hands behind my back. Old habits die hard. Heero studied me for a moment and grinned.<p>

"How many people here do you think know how to speak Japanese?" he asked.

I gazed around for a moment at the sea of camouflage. "Most of the soldiers look brand new. They're probably on a weekend pass of some sort. I'd wager they don't know much, yet," I shrugged. "Why?"

"I was just going to say that you are excellent in...couch." I paled considerably and he laughed.

"HEY!" a voice hollered in my direction, in English. "MAXWELL!"

I looked over my shoulder to seen a familiar face, stout and freckled with round glasses and a shaved head, rushing towards me through the crowd. "McNeil!" I called back, turning to face him with my arms outstretched as if we were going to have some sort of starry eyed, Hollywood reunion. He, quite dramatically, dove into my arms, and we hugged quite a bit longer than was appropriate.

"Aaaah, how I've missed this!" he sighed.

"The nights were so cold and lonely," I affirmed.

He finally shoved off me and shook my hand properly. "Seriously, now, man, how you been! God, it's been like, two years!"

"Been good, been good. Little bit of this and that. I'm in a band now."

"SWEET!" his eyes grew large with appreciation. "So I guess you're not in the service anymore, huh?"

"Nah, but look at you! Sergeant First Class? They that desperate for people that they promoted your dumb ass?" I teased.

"Damn straight!" he puffed out his chest and rank proudly. Just took over a new squad of 36 Bravos."

"Paper pusher," I sniffed with mock condescension.

"Pushed your mom!"

"Shut the fuck up! So what? You into Indiana Jones now? His whip turn you on?"

"Baby, you know it!" he crowed. "No, really, I'm into drinking. The movie's just a break in between. What are you up to?"

"Ah, me and my band pal here are just out to catch the movie," I gestured to Heero, who'd been politely and silently standing there the entire time. McNeil looked at him in surprise; he'd probably thought Heero was a local who just happened to be standing near me this entire time. "Heero, this is SFC McNeil. We were stationed together in Germany for a time." He blinked at me a moment, and it suddenly dawned on me that his English might be a little rusty, so I repeated myself in Japanese and he nodded his head and took McNeil's outstretched hand with a smile. I turned back to McNeil. "Heero's quite the skilled guitarist," I informed him.

"Hey, you weren't so shabby yourself, back in the day," he grinned. "Good to meet you, Heero. Sorry, I don't speak Japanese. Guess you don't speak any English, either, huh? So I really can't warn you that this guy's a complete asshole," I rolled my eyes when he pointed at me, and Heero just blinked at him. "So, what's up with this guy?" he asked, turning back to me and not changing the his tone or the expression in his face. "He kinda looks like a chick. Think you need to ditch him and come hang with real men for a while...and get a damn hair cut while you're at it! Shit!" he craned his neck to look around the side of my head. "What the fuck is up with that? You think you're Rapunzel or something?"

I shook my head at him. "Whatever you say, baldy. You know you're just jealous. Enjoy the movie."

"You too, Maxwell! Keep in touch!"

"Sure thing."

"Bye, gaywad," he waved cheerily to Heero.

"Bye. It was nice meeting you," Heero spoke English so well, you would have thought he was a native speaker. If he was pissed, he didn't let it show. Both McNeil and I stared him him with our mouths wide open.

"Uh-huh...Aren't you a smart one," he smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. Heero just shrugged.

"I'm Japanese. Doesn't that go without saying, or something?"

McNeil looked at me somewhat critically, as if he was questioning whether I'd been in on the little joke. I could see in his face that he felt betrayed.

"See ya," he offered half-heartidly, before walking away. I said nothing as I watched him leave.

"McNeil's really not a bad guy," I finally said, somewhat chastising. "That wasn't necessary."

"It wasn't necessary to say I looked like a 'chick', either."

"We all say things we normally wouldn't when people can't hear us."

"Doesn't change the fact that he thought I was sub human. And you didn't seem to mind too much."

"I did mind," I told him, feeling knots form in my stomach. "I just didn't know what to say. We go way back, and we've been through so much together. It's hard to just let stuff like that go."

Heero wouldn't look at me, and tapped the front of his shoe into the ground. "If that is true, you should just be honest," he said at length, his voice oddly quiet, just above a whisper. "Everything you just told that man was a lie." I stared at him, utterly confused, and said nothing. "Let's see a movie some other time." He put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked away. It was the first time I'd ever seen him angry, and I had a feeling it wasn't about what McNeil had said.

* * *

><p>"You're such a fuckin' idiot!" Solo half yelled, half whined, as I'd messed up the vehicle fuel schedule for the umpteenth time. He smacked my Kevlar soundly with his knuckles and snatched my clip board away. "It's comforting to know they let any old moron into the Army, now days!" He always spoke louder than was really necessary. I supposed being around high powered machinery for so long had made him a little deaf.<p>

"Sorry, Sarge," I scratched the back of my head. "I couldn't read your handwriting."

"Oh, ho! Passing the buck, are we?" He squinted down at the sheet. "Well, shit, private! I can't read it either!" He laughed heartily, and I smiled. "Come on, soldier. Let's pack up for today and go have a drink."

You would have thought he was my dad or something, the way he talked, but Solo was only twenty-three, and I was one of his nineteen year old privates, straight out of AIT.

"One day, Maxwell, we're gonna be out of this shit-hole, and then what you gonna do?" He took a swig of the muddy colored, spicy ale the locals, and apparently he as well, loved.

"Ummm, probably get assigned to a new duty station?"

"No, Private! Shit! What are you gonna do when you get out of the Army?"

"Oh...I don't know, Sarge. I suppose I'll find a job somewhere. Maybe get married?"

"Usual stuff, huh?" he scratched his nose.

"Yeah, Sarge," I shrugged. "Guess I haven't thought about it too much. I'm a pretty simple guy."

"Pretty boring is what you are, Maxwell!" he slapped the counter hard enough to make our glasses jump to emphasize. "Good thing you joined the Army! At least you'll have one thing to talk about!"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"PSh!" He waved his hand at me and left to go chat with some females, crowded near the edge of the wooden counter where we had sat. I'd no doubt he'd sleep with at least one of them, if not two, that night. Solo didn't have to pay for a lot of things, least of all sex. He stood at least six feet tall, sheer muscle, but not bulky, and was always quick, and light on his feet. He could box better than anyone I'd ever met, and when he fought, his green eyes seemed to glow with an almost inhuman energy. His almost shoulder length, wavy, wheat-colored hair made him look like some Greek god, and like one, he also exuded unwavering confidence, almost cockiness. Women fell over right and left when he walked through the door. I blamed Texas. However, chivalry was not completely dead inside of him. Sure, he'd sleep with ten or fifteen different girls a month, but he'd make sure it was the best night of her life, sometimes even go as far as buying her breakfast the next day. He really wasn't a bad guy. He was just a man who didn't know the meaning of regret or shame. He was the type of man you'd follow anywhere, even to the gates of Hell. So, that's just what I did.

* * *

><p>Above his left hip, Heero had three freckles, evenly spaced in the shape of a triangle, almost as if someone had deliberately placed them there like tiny stickers. I lay on my pillow, staring at the small of his back, barely visible above the bed sheets. Without even thinking, my hand reached out, and I traced them with my index finger. The bedding rustled, and he flipped on his other side, the sheets pulling tight against my back as he rolled with them. I could see his muscle fibers move his bones in a ripple effect, like a serpent, as he repositioned himself after turning. His hair fell across his face, unruly and dark against the whiteness of the pillowcase, and his left hand landed palm up, stretched out in front of him. It was a wonderful thing to see first thing in the morning. Most of the time, Aisha's whiskered face was the one I woke up to. I always fell asleep with Heero next to me, but I supposed at some point during the night, he would get up and wind up falling asleep on the couch. I never really asked him anything about it. I figured he had some sort of aversion to sleeping next to anyone. I offered more than once to get my own room, but something about that seemed to trouble him, so I let it rest.<p>

I saw his eyes slowly open, and he furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, while adjusting to the morning light. We had rehearsal early that morning, because there was a fund raiser for blood donations we were supposed to attend, and it was a good three hours away by car. Even as I lay there, I was acutely aware that the bright, red back lighted alarm clock would sound off with it's annoying screech at any moment. But even so, I didn't want to move from that spot. I watched the moment he woke up, the moment he realized he was awake, the moment he realized I was there. The changes were subtle, a mere ripple across his deep blue eyes. Sometimes, they almost appeared black in color, but in the morning light, his eyes were like a deep ocean, teeming with every thought that flitted through his mind. I could see them all, except the one when he looked at me. The corner of his mouth tugged in a small smile.

"Hi," he said, as if I'd just walked up to him on the street. His voice was thick from sleep.

"Morning," I answered back. I'm glad you're here is what I wanted to say. I'm glad we're together is what I wanted to say. I can look at you forever. It seemed so easy at first, and the words would swell and swirl up to my lips, but the inertia would always mysteriously vanish right as I was about to spit the damn words out. Then, the great rush would be over, and there would be nothing. I walked my fingers across the divide and curled them around his. He watched our interlocked hands for a moment, as if he were observing something completely unrelated to himself, someone else's hands on the television or in a magazine, and he didn't move. I'd lived it all before.

* * *

><p>It wasn't where we were supposed to be. That's all I could remember thinking, and it certainly wasn't helping anything. It was just a supply run, one gone horribly, horribly wrong.<p>

"GOD FUCK IT!" Solo roared above the noise and dust. He, Bishop, and I were crouched behind our overturned hummer, somewhere in the desert. A home made explosive had blown one of our tires off, and we were isolated from our convoy. In theory, the area had been cleared of enemy personnel, otherwise we'd never have left with such a small crew. And it was only getting smaller. Shipman lay dead a few feet to my right. The poor Bastard had been hit with shrapnel through the bottom of the vehicle. He'd been sitting directly above where the bomb had gone off. Tore a hole clean through him, and he'd bled out in a matter of minutes. There was nothing anyone could do for the man, except reassure him through his terrified screams of agony that it was all gonna be alright, and he'd see his wife again.

"And your daughter too!" I added, as I dragged him by the back of his rucksack, I flicked my selector to burst and fired randomly in any direction. I could hear the pops of small arms fire, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Then he was gone. Before diving next to Solo, I ripped the dog tags from his neck.

"11 o'clock!" he yelled in my ear over the rounds of Bishop's SAW. I peaked over the top of the vehicle, and fired off a few rounds. There were at least eight enemy soldiers in the dunes a few hundred meters away. Our convoy was nowhere in sight, and there was no response on the radio. Chances were it was straight up broke. The successive firing of the SAW ceased, and Bishop's body jerked. I knew he was dead, I didn't even have to confirm it. Solo grabbed me by the back of the collar, and pulled me to the rear of the hummer. The small arms fire halted as well. We could hear the enemy conversing with each other, excitedly, almost giddily. I had a bad feeling. Looking back, remembering the expression on Solo's face, I think he knew it too. We weren't going to die, not that day.

"Hey, Maxwell," he whispered, breathing heavily in the sweltering heat of the dessert sun.

"Sarge?" my voice was hopelessly optimistic, as I waited to hear the command, the words that would surely save me, that would point me in the direction of life.

"Throw down your weapon."

"...It's out of ammo anyways, Sarge."

We were absolutely, irrevocably fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

_This is very much turning out to be a stream of consciousness-type of story. Because of where I currently reside, I don't have the luxury of internet at my disposal 24/7. But I also don't want to go forever without updating. So, my plan is to just keep posting, and then one day go back and edit it all for coherence. :D Thanks for reading! Reviews pump me up, hooah?_  
><p>

* * *

><br>It wasn't too long after that theater incident, only a couple of weeks or so, I'd guess. Quatre swept up and down the scales again, followed by short and choppy staccato. I've never played keyboard or piano, but it looked difficult. The way his fingers splayed and flexed as they jumped around the keys looked almost painful, and his veins were protruding from his skin from all the effort.

"Nuh, nuh, no," Heero shook his head and took the pen he had clenched between his teeth out. "Right here," he pointed with the tip, "You need to come off louder, and you're letting your fingers drag a bit."

Quatre's head dipped forward, and he sighed with exasperation. They'd been at it for a good hour or so. He hiked up the over sized sleeves on the sweatshirt, which hung off his right shoulder, and tried again. Heero watched him, intently, his hands clasped around the back of his neck so that his elbows touched in the front. After Quatre finished, he folded one arm and bit down on the pen again, slowly shaking his head. I'd thought it sounded pretty good.

"What?" Quatre's voice was stony. He tucked his bought hair behind his ears and narrowed his eyes.

"It just still doesn't sound right. Here, let me show you." Heero took off his leather jacket and tossed it to the side before taking a seat next to the now somewhat disgruntled kid on the bench. He dove right into the part, and, like everything Heero Yuy did musically, it was perfect. I was aware of his talent for the piano, we had one in the apartment, but it wasn't often he played in the band's company. Quatre looked a little shocked.

"If only there was a way for you to play guitar and piano at the same time," Wufei lamented, lightly tapping a cymbal. I was pretty sure the look Quatre threw his way could kill.

"I'm sorry we can't all be so fucking perfect," he muttered, crossing his legs and folding his arms. His shorts were approaching dangerous heights, as he kicked at the keyboard stand with his sneakers, irritably.

"You're doing fine," Heero asserted, though his voice was distracted. He rose, taking the music sheets with him.

"Wait! Where are those going?" Quatre asked.

"I'm just going to rework this section all together. I think it's a bit too overdone."

"Oh, fuck no!" Quatre cried, not buying the obvious cover, and he stood as well. "I can get it, I promise! You've just got to give me more than an hour! I'm just not used to playing this way, yet!" he demonstrated by waving his hands about frantically.

"It's not about you, but while we're on the subject, you need to cut your nails."

"Excuse me?" Quatre's voice was suddenly quite breathless.

"They're too long to play correctly. Cut them." I almost laughed. Quatre looked like Heero had just asked him to cut his hands off. Heero himself didn't even notice, as he shuffled through the papers, eyeing them critically.

"As long as we're celebrating 'shit on Quatre day', will there be anything else, oh favored one?"

"Nope," Heero said simply, walking out the room, already completely absorbed. Wufei let out a small snort and Quatre looked absolutely livid.

"Asshole!" he yelled, sending the fold out bench clattering to the far side of the room with his foot. His voice was becoming very loud with agitation. For such a runt, Quatre had an amazing pair of lungs in him. It's why he provided a lot of the ambient backdrop vocals without hardly any tweaking through the mixer. He was able to manipulate his voice practically any way, and although it was not quite as unique as Heero's, it was full and vibrant. It was the kind of voice you'd never expect to come out of some skinny little kid, but then again, there were a lot of things about Quatre no one would ever expect. "Can you believe that shit?"

Trowa and I had been sitting on the small, floral print couch, which occupied a corner of the recording studio, plucking idly at our guitars as we waited for practice to resume. I faced the front, and Trowa lay stretched out on his back, his buckskin boots propped up against my right leg. He shrugged at Quatre's question, and I leaned forward, resting my arms over my guitar. I liked the way the smooth, polished wood felt cold against the back of my arms. Gave me goose bumps. Everyone else was in long sleeves, but I was used to the chilly weather.

"Heero didn't mean to snub you, you know," I offered, trying to dispel the tense atmosphere. It wasn't just that day, the kid had been on edge all week. "You know how he is when it comes to music. He kind of mentally checks out."

Quatre completely ignored me, not uncommon, especially when he was in a mood, and leaned against Trowa's side of the couch in a huff. "He's the one who asked me to be in this stupid band! If I'm not fucking good enough, then he should just find someone else!" Trowa said nothing, and continued to pluck at the thick strings on his bass.

"Why are you taking this so personally?" Wufei sighed, laying his sticks aside and rising from his drum set. "No one's as good as Heero. Stop being a diva."

"Was not talking to Wu!" Quatre intentionally looked in the opposite direction.

"Whatever," Wufei sighed. "I need to call and let Nakamura know we might be running a little behind schedule. Anyone want something to drink while I'm at it?"

"Sprite?" Trowa asked, sounding small and meek, like a child.

"Oh, orange?" I chimed in, mimicking his baby tone. "Pwease?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you people," Wufei said, shaking his head as he left.

"Thanks, Daddy!" Trowa called after him.

"Shut up!" Wufei's voice sounded from the other room. Quatre watched him go, and plunked down on the floor.

"Such a jerk," he rubbed his temples. Trowa shrugged, and still didn't say anything. Quatre looked back at him a moment, and when it became clear he wasn't going to get an answer, continued on. "Since Wufei's so into Heero, they should just go get a hotel room together in hell."  
>I snorted. Trowa just rolled his eyes and sighed. "What?" Quatre asked, immediately on the defense.<p>

"Nothing. Go practice."

"What?" Now his voice sounded confused.

"You say you're good enough. I know you're good enough. Stop being so insecure and show them. Grow up."

There was nothing cruel in the way he said it. He might just as well have been commenting on the color of the room. In a way, it was fitting, as Trowa had always been a sort of big brother figure for the boy. At least, in as much as I'd seen them interact with one another. He definitely looked out for him. And, in turn, it was obvious to everyone, (well, except maybe Trowa), that Quatre completely and utterly adored the older man. He was usually attached at the hip everywhere they went. How the two polar opposites grew to be such close friends was a mystery to me. Music was the only commonality between them. Trowa had been in the Maritime Self-Defense Force, and then gone on to work with law enforcement for the past couple of years before the band became a full time job. Quatre was, as far as I knew, an otherwise unemployed, flashy, vocal little thing. I suppose opposites attract, even in friendships. Like a tall, quiet hound and a skittish little fox. The fox and the hound weren't playing so well together, today.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Insecure? Me?"

Trowa rose from the couch, putting his guitar back in it's case. He stood up straight, a good foot taller than the kid. After all, Quatre was in flats that day. "Yeah. You. And you don't need it."

"Don't need what?" Quatre was practically spitting. He was getting so wound up, I suppose the emotion had to go somewhere. It was like shaking a can of soda.

"All of this," Trowa sounded tired as he made a sweeping motion over him with his left hand. "If you did it just because you felt like it, well that's one thing. But it's like some weird crutch with you. And the attitude. Seriously, no one cares that much. If you want to be in the band you should just do your job and get better, little by little." Quatre looked like something inside of him was going to explode. His face was turning all sorts of lovely shades of red and purple. It was like a dial spinning, and he wasn't quite sure how he should feel. He bit his lip and cocked his head slightly to the side. "You don't need it," Trowa reiterated. "Stop acting like a damn child."  
>The room was deathly silent. That had to be the most I'd ever heard Trowa speak at one time. Quatres' face was unreadable, his head sank so low you couldn't even see his face. Trowa shoved his free hand in his jean pocket, and and he looked down at him with somewhat of a sad expression. He shook his head and started toward the door. "If we're not practising anymore today, I'm going to split. I got a date tonight," Quatre flinched, "Tell Wufei I'll call him."<p>

"I will," I answered, feeling more than a little awkward at being left alone with the troubled youth. I suddenly had a feeling about what was really bothering him. We were alone, and I sat there, nervously drumming the body of my guitar with my fingers. "Well, alright then," I clicked my tongue, (Heero had me doing that now), and looked about, fighting the compulsion to start whistling. I wanted nothing more than to leave as well, but even I wasn't cruel enough to leave the poor kid alone like that. He really was just a child, and I felt like Trowa had been a little harsh. On the other hand, tough cookies. Life sucks sometimes, and nobody's going to solve your problems for you. You just got to pull yourself up by your own boot straps, and yadda, yadda, yadda...

I heard a quiet sob, and the boy's small, thin shoulders hitched. I sighed. Fuck it all...

"Alright," I rose from my seat with purpose, and put my guitar away. "Come on," I commanded, gruffly.

"Wha-?"

"Shut the fuck up and get your ass out that door, now!"

I doubted Quatre was aware that I could sound that mean. I wasn't aware that he could move that fast. The guy shot out the door like he was on fire. I followed up the rear, and we reached the parking lot. Heero's tangerine colored Mazda was nowhere in sight; he'd probably forgotten we were even there. I had my old, brown, used Subaru in the corner of the lot and steered him toward it. "Get in." He complied. I was half expecting a snide comment about the comeliness of the car, but he said nothing. He stared straight ahead over the dashboard, his hands on his lap. The only movement he made was to blink. "Buckle up." Geez, telling people what to do was kind of fun. Maybe I should have volunteered to be a drill sergeant. After the initial shock wore off, he recovered and reached into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and took out a pair of sunglasses. They took up his entire face, but they hid his puffy and bloodshot eyes. He set his lips in a firm line; it made him suddenly appear years older than he actually was.

"Where are we going?" He finally asked, after I'd pulled out onto the street.

"To get some fresh air, and don't light that in here."

His hand froze halfway, the cigarette poised right on the edge of his lip. He stared at me over the rim of his glasses. "Sorry, I forgot you don't smoke," his voice was genuinely apologetic. It was...odd.

Shaking my head at his new addiction, I popped a tape into the cassette player, and looked straight at the road. It was a mix, and we listened in silence to the Pixie's Monkey Gone to Heaven and Michael Jackson's Billie Jean. I stopped at a small convenience store and came out with a loaf of bread. Quatre said nothing. A few minutes later, we reached our destination, which happened to be a local park. "Are you serious?"

I unbuckled and began to get out of the car. "Absolutely. You need fresh air. You look like you haven't had an hour of sun in your life. It's not healthy."

"What the fuck, are you my father now? I don't need people to tell me what to do."

"Everyone needs someone to tell them what to do sometimes...Get out of the car."

I couldn't see his eyes behind the glasses, but I'm sure he was glaring. "Fine," he said at length, and got out. He slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and stood with one hip cocked, his arms folded so tightly, his nails were probably digging into the skin on his arms. I'd never seen someone look so out of place. In my home town, the park was where it was at. It was the place all the local teens gathered and mingled until either the sun rose, or the local law enforcement ran us off. That was a sight to see. As soon as someone glimpsed the hazy blue and red lights flashing through the foggy night and heard the faint wailing of the sirens, we scattered like a thousand cockroaches in every direction, beer cans flying. Kids are so dumb. I nodded in the direction of the lake, and started toward it with the bread in my hand. I knew he would follow. we walked out onto the small, wooden foot bridge crossing over a small slip. White ducks paddled beneath us, quacking indignantly at our presence. Their tone quickly changed into a frenzied excitement at the sight of the bread. I handed Quatre a few of the slices, and he stared at them, quizzically. He finally looked up at me with his fine eyebrows arched high.  
>"We're feeding ducks," I explained, dropping a few tiny pieces into the water. The ducks swarmed over the floating crumbs and they were devoured almost instantly.<p>

"We...are feeding ducks," he echoed, and almost mechanically dropped a whole slice of the bread over the side of the railing.

"You gotta tear it up into little pieces and scatter them. You've never fed ducks before?" I asked, almost laughing. He shrugged. "Man, what kind of upbringing did you have?"

"The bad kind," he answered simply. He dropped a handful of crumbs and leaned over to watch the ducks jump all over each other. "It is kind of therapeutic to place small, stupid creatures in a state of aggressive mania, isn't it?"

"That's the completely wrong attitude," I declared. "Why are you so negative?"

"Because I never fed ducks when I was a kid?" he shot back snidely. I could already see the tension leaving his face, though. We stood there for a long time, periodically throwing bread into the water. Eventually, the loaf ran out, and the ducks quickly lost interest and swam away. "Well!" Quatre observed, holding onto the ledge and leaning back. "Aren't they little whores." I laughed, and he startled. A small smile broke through to the surface, and he laughed too. Now that I thought about it, I'd never heard him laugh before. It sounded so...normal. He quickly caught himself and fell silent again. "Thank you," he said at length. "For this..."

"You're welcome."

"Trowa's right. I do need to grow up. I've never been anything but a mega-bitch to you."

"Yup," I wasn't going to disagree. He smiled, sadly.

"You know," he said, putting his hands in the back pockets of his shorts, "Sometimes I don't know why he even bothers. The more I try to imagine my future, the more I see nothing, just a big, black hole." I opened my mouth to respond, but he quickly whipped his head around to silence me. "I know what you're going to say. I'm too young to decide there's nothing more to life. Cut the bull shit. I knew it when I saw you."

"Knew what?" I asked. He ignored my question and lit a cigarette.

"I'm assuming you want to know my sob story," he said, slowly exhaling a stream of smoke. What I really wanted to know was how he kept getting cigarettes. I knew Trowa wasn't buying them for him.

"If getting it off your chest will help," I offered. I could already tell this was going to be one of the more uncomfortable moments of my life.

"I don't think anything will ever help me," the way he said it made me believe him. "My mother's dead, because of me."

'Ouch,' I thought. Yes, this was going to be unpleasant, indeed. He looked up at the sky and continued.

"My stepfather, he absolutely hated me. He married my mother, because she was beautiful. She married him because he was one of the only people who would marry a single mother. It was...pathetic." He brought his head back down into his chest and took another drag off his cigarette. "So, one night, my step father was beating me. Not the usual kind of beating; I was pretty sure he was going to kill me. He had a drinking problem. My mother, I guess she thought he would, too. She usually didn't interfere too much, but that night, she jumped on his back, and started hitting him. She was screaming at him..." he trailed off and I knew he was reliving the event in his mind. A while passed before he continued on. "I can remember the sound of her shriek when he threw her. The back of her head hit the corner of a table; she died almost instantly." He tapped his cigarette over the railing, letting the breeze catch the ashes and carry them far away. "The police came. Trowa was there. I guess he was pretty new at it. My step dad passed it off as an accident. He was an important banker. I was scared out of my mind, hiding behind my bedroom door and watching them through a tiny crack," he held up his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. "I remember praying. I was screaming in my head. 'Please don't leave, please don't leave'. They began to walk out the door, but I couldn't make a sound. I saw them lift my mother onto a stretcher. They threw a sheet over her and wheeled her out the door. I still didn't make a sound. Trowa was the last to leave. I don't know why, but he paused right as my stepfather was about to shut the door. He suddenly threw his arm in the way of the door and pushed his way back in. Everything happened so fast, I don't really remember it too well, but I remember my stepfather cursing at him and the next thing I knew, my door was flung open, and Trowa was standing right in front of me."

"He helped you," I thought out loud.

Quatre flicked his cigarette into the water. "If you mean he kept me from dying that night, then I suppose so," he muttered rather darkly. He crossed his arms over the wood and rested his chin on them. "But you know, sometimes...it feels like things didn't happen the way they were supposed to."

"What do you mean?"

"I should have died that night, not my mother. Trowa should still be in the police force. This band shouldn't exist. Like, everything got all fucked up somewhere along the way." I don't know why, but a sudden surge of panic swept over me, and I gripped the railing tightly. I was very much regretting the conversation. I started to bounce my leg, bending my left knee back and forth in my agitation. Quatre didn't notice. "It's like there was a hiccup in time or something." He took off his wig, and looked down at it, thoughtfully. His hair was shockingly blond, and fine. He shook the pins out, and it resembled a white bird taking flight when the wind caught the ends and lifted them up. I'd never seen someone look so angelic and fragile. He really didn't look like he belonged; not in the park and not to this world.

"You love him, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

He shrugged, and walked to the side again, letting the hair drop between his hands. It fell into the water with a small splash, and we both watched as it slowly faded from view, sinking to the bottom. "I guess, if this is what they call love."

People along the shore of the lake were beginning to point and gaggle in our general direction. I guess they finally realized who we were, and had started taking pictures and what not. We had yet to reach mega stardom, but there was enough of a stir for me to decide it was time for a hasty withdrawal. Quatre dumping his hair into the lake was probably going to be all over the papers tomorrow morning. P.R. was gonna be pissed. As we got back into the car, I recalled what he had said earlier.

"What did you mean when you said you knew it when you saw me?" I asked, sliding into the drivers seat and fastening my safety belt. Quatre adjusted his sunglasses and looked toward me.

"That you're empty," I stared at my reflection in the large, plastic lenses, "Just like me."

We didn't listen to the radio on the drive back. Quatre was telling me about a few thoughts he'd had concerning the album we were currently working on, going so far as to demonstrate, a cappella style. As he spoke, it was like our previous conversation had never happened. He was once again a loud, bubbly teenager, talking a little louder than necessary and over-gesticulating. Most of his ideas were actually really good, and I told him he should definitely bring it up with Wufei and Heero the next day. He said he'd think about it. Quatre would hang himself three years later.

* * *

><p>Heero and I had driven back from his work at the bar in my little Subaru late one afternoon. He wouldn't be working there much longer. Wufei was already looking at selling the old place. We were still riding pretty high from signing our record deal a couple of weeks before and had already begun recording in the studio. We were supposed to be on our way to practice, but I'd seen a goldfish that looked exactly like Cleo in a pet store window, and we had to bring Cleo II home first. Heero held the fish in a bag up high, inspecting it.<p>

"Well, now you won't be so lonely at night," he commented, referring to how we'd originally met.  
>"Maybe we should arrange play dates for Cleo and Aisha."<p>

"That sounds more like arranging dinner," I said, with a grin. Heero laughed, and let the bag rest on his lap.

"Gotta get our laughs in now before 'real work' begins," he commented. He twirled a cigarette around in his free hand, knowing I wouldn't let him light it in my car.

"Come on, you've gotta be a little excited about seeing your name in lights."

Heero smiled and shrugged. "I suppose so. That sort of thing just isn't very important to me, I guess."

"So, what IS important to you," I queried. I honestly wanted to know for some reason.

"Ah, lots of things!" he grinned. "Let's see...my cat, my guitar, my piano, my friends...I don't know, I'm just happy as long as everyone else is happy."

"In America, we would call you a 'hippie douchebag'," I informed him, and he laughed again. I could listen to that sound all day long, and not grow tired of it. But the smile quickly faded from my face, as we rounded the corner. There in front of my building was a familiar, small silver Honda, parked a few spaces from the door. Heero immediately sensed my change in mood.

"What's up?" He asked, trying to look where I was looking.

"It's...my wife." I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I hadn't even thought about her in days. Heero's eyes grew large for a moment, and he glanced at me questioningly. I sat there, stunned, not really knowing what to do. But I guess there really was only one thing to do. Heero slowly held the bag with the fish out to me.

"Guess you, your wife, and Cleo II have a lot to talk about. I can walk from here. I'll tell Wufei you're running a little late."

"I'm really sorry," I began, as I took the bag and began getting out of the car. Heero got out as well and thrust his hands in his jacket, rocking back on his heels.

"No worries, seriously! I'll catch you later, alright?" He smiled again, but something about it seemed off. I think Heero might have been a little apprehensive about whether Hilde and I would get back together. It was pretty evil, but something about that kind of made me feel good.

"I'll come as soon as I can," I promised. He gave a wave and began walking away. I waved back, even though he was already turned around.

"Well, you two seem awfully close," an all too familiar voice spoke from behind me. I turned around to see my wife, smartly dressed in a skirt, blouse and heels. Her short, black hair was always neatly pinned back now, but I remembered the days when it used to flip every which way, when we were young.

"Hi, Hilde. Nice of you to stop by. What can I do for you?" My voice was pretty platonic. If she had been expecting me to be a little more emotional about her sudden return, she was going to be sorely disappointed.

"Well, super star, I came by to bring these for you to sign. I would have done so sooner, but you are literally never home now days."

I knew what was in the envelope before she even opened it. "Sure thing. Let's go inside." I walked past her up the steps and into the building. She followed.

"So, was I suppressing the latent rock star in you all these years?" I'll never know how she found out about my sudden career change. Maybe she had talked to one of my old coworkers. I just laughed as I fished around for a pen.

"It was really nothing to do with me. I was practically shanghaied into it, no effort required on my part. I think they just liked my hair." Hilde rolled her eyes.

"Of course it is the hair I was always telling you to cut that eventually brought you fame and fortune," she sighed, giving her bangs a little toss.

"Awe, it must not be that bad looking after all, huh?" I teased. "Look! Pen!"

"You want to read it first, yes?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"I don't really care what it says," I told her honestly. "Take it all, if you want."

"You are such an idiot," she muttered, handing the papers to me. "You do not care about anything that is important."

"Well, I am a rock star now," I informed her as I signed. "We tend to be a carefree breed."

She shook her head. "Well, in case you wonder later, I do not want any of your money. I am doing just fine without you. But I did..." she suddenly looked down at her shoes, "want to apologize...for the way I left. It was not fair to you, and I am sorry." She sat down on the couch, her knees together, neatly. "I am happy things are working out for you." She sounded sincere, and I smiled.

"I want you to be happy too, Hilde. I'm sorry I made your life so unpleasant for so long."

"It was not all bad," she winked, and stood to leave. I handed her the folder back. "Well, take care of yourself, Duo. I'll be following along with your career."

"Thanks, Hilde. You too."  
>"Oh! Who's this little guy?" she asked, suddenly noticing the fish I'd set on the counter top.<p>

"That's Cleo II. Sorry, honey, but Cleo kinda kicked it after you left," I mentally slapped myself for letting the "honey" slip, but old habits die hard. Hilde didn't seem to notice.

"Bummer..." she said. I'd taught her that word. "Well, bye, dear," she waved on her way through the door. "Oh, and tell your boyfriend I said, hi."

"What? He's not my-"

Hilde tilted her head down and looked up at me cynically with her large, cornflower blue eyes. "Really, it is pretty obvious. I'm glad you found someone to make you happy. Good luck, Duo."  
>She kissed me on the cheek and left. That wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Not more than ten minutes had elapsed before my phone rang.<p>

"Duo here," I answered.

"Duo!" Wufei's angry voice pierced my eardrums, "What the fuck happened when Heero was out with you? All he's done since he got here is stare out the window!"

I was shocked at how accusing his voice sounded. He was literally seething. I was not aware at the time of just how protective Wufei could be over his friends. He was like a lion!

"It's all good, Wufei, just tell him I had some divorce papers to sign."

"...What?"

"Just tell him. I'll be there in a few." I put Cleo II in his new bowl, grabbed my coat and raced out the door, feeling absolutely no worse for wear at the prospect of being "single".


	3. Chapter 3

_I feel like this bit got a little dramatic...but I suppose we all inevitably have a big blowout of some sort with our significant other. ^^; And they do tend to be dramatic in nature. I don't know. I'm afraid it got out of character, but I needed certain things to happen for plot purposes. I might change it later. Thank you for sticking with me this far! :D_

* * *

><p>The elevator opened directly into our penthouse overlooking central Tokyo. We'd bought it after we'd finished our second tour, kind of like a reward, I guess. It was in a pretty convenient location and had great security. We were well protected from our fans, (a strange way of putting it, I know), and had complete privacy, for the most part, from paparazzi. You had to go through a security gate to enter the complex, but every now and then, I have no idea how, someone would sneak past the 12 foot fence and I'd see a bright flash from below when I stepped out on my balcony to read the paper. If Heero was around, he'd grace them with a few good shots. He said he admired their spunk. I just called security.<p>

The twinkling lights of the city glittered in the large, bay windows on the far side of the room, but I was in no mood to admire their beauty. Wufei and I had been at a meeting with WM practically all day, and the Chinese man was not my best friend, lately. But, as Heero had decided to pull another disappearing act for the day, an event which was becoming increasingly common, he needed at least one other member of the band to be present. Trowa had an interview with a teen magazine, and Quatre, although old enough now to participate more fully in matters of business, was usually busy with his own budding solo career and "social obligations", as he liked to tell us. So that left me, and Wufei was not pleased in the least. Amidst the curt comments and glares, I think the only way he could have made it more clear was if he went ahead and punched me in the face like I knew he wanted to. But he held it together for the sake of conducting business. It was nearing the time to renew our contracts again, and Wufei was even more prepared with facts and figures than our agent as to why we should have ridiculous percentages. I tried to back him up by looking as unyielding as possible when they disagreed, side-stepped, outright begged us to sign on their terms. Of course, Wufei was having none of that, so we left that day, once again, richer than when we'd walked in. I didn't care, honestly. I already had more money than I could possibly know what to do with, even after I invested in Wufei's various business ventures. He was so savvy, that it usually just resulted in more money getting dumped on my lap. Picking out charities became a chore, and I'd long ago paid off all of my parents' debts and bought them both new cars. I supposed I could always save up for an island. It was all so useless. I was not a happy camper, lately.

The whole thing with Wufei had started when I woke up to one of his angry phone calls one bright and early morning, a few weeks back. We'd just got back to town, and I was utterly exhausted from the lack of sleep we'd endured the past two months. My legs were so tangled up in the sheets, I almost fell flat on my face when I went to answer the phone. Every muscle in my body hurt, like I'd been running a marathon and not sleeping at all. In fact, I wished I hadn't gone to sleep. I'd had horrible nightmares all night; things that I wanted nothing more than to forget . But that's the thing about dreams. They're inescapable. I think you still dream, even when you take the big sleep. Heero was nowhere to be found, not even on the couch. I wrinkled my eyebrows, and blinked wearily. He usually didn't run off so early in the morning.

"Hello?" I answered, somewhat groggily. Why did it seem like the world could never wait until I had coffee?

"Listen, you mother fucker!" I startled, quickly holding the receiver away from my ringing ear. Wufei's static ladened rage continued. "I don't give a flying fuck what you've been through! I don't care if your whole goddamn family was shot right in front of your fucking face! If you ever, ever, hit him again, I will kill you!"

Well, I was certainly wide awake now. I brought the phone back to my ear. "Wufei, calm down," I began, almost stuttering in my surprise. What on earth was he talking about? "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't you fucking dare!"

"Dare what?" I almost yelled. "What the fuck are you talking about? Tell me, now! Is it something about Heero?" I felt apprehension creeping up my spine and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Yes, it's about Heero, you absolute, fucking waste of a human being!"

I was immediately up and pacing. "What happened?" I asked, trying to hide the rising panic in my voice. I think my tone threw Wufei off. It was a moment before he answered.

"You should tell me! I showed up at the studio and he was already here, black and bloody! He insisted that he was fine, that he got in some kind of tiff with a man at a club last night and took things a little too far."

"Heero doesn't go to clubs..." I said, absently. And I knew he was home last night.

"I fucking know Heero doesn't go to clubs!" Wufei spat. "So, care to explain to me why my friend's face looks like a god damn train hit it this morning?"

"I honestly don't have an answer for you," I said, sliding into my jeans and buckling my belt. "Is Heero there now? Can I speak to him?"

"No! He was trying to sneak out the back door before I even saw him! Don't think you're getting off the hook for this. I want an answer," his voice dropped to a low and menacing growl.

"Get off my back! I'm in the dark here, too!" I didn't try to hide my exasperation. I wanted to find Heero, to make sure he was alright. The last thing I wanted to do was go round and round with Wufei.

"I'm watching you."

He hung up, and I threw the phone against the far wall in frustration. The hard plastic shattered, and sent pieces flying across the wooded floors. Ever since then, Wufei had it in for me. I eventually did find Heero, the next day. His face did look pretty awful. One of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut, and he had cuts on his lips and cheek bones. I could see faint, dark prints were someone had grabbed his throat, and I was twice as angry as Wufei had been. But I couldn't get the truth out of him, no matter how many times I asked. I could barely get him to even look me in the eye. I shadowed him everywhere for a week after that, not really knowing what to do, and trying the best way I knew how to make sure it didn't happen again. That soon backfired.

"Look," Heero stood in our doorway with his car keys dangling from his hand. He hadn't been able to disappear all week with me constantly following him around. "I appreciate your overwhelming concern, but it was just a fluke. It's not going to happen again. I don't need a personal bodyguard, though you make a very handsome one." He said the last part with one of his sly, evasive smiles. I wasn't biting.

"You're not going alone," my tone left no room for argument. I saw his expression darken for a moment before the smile masked his emotions again. I would go as far to physically keep him there, and he knew I could.

"You're treating me like a damn woman," he chuckled. "Like I said, I dig the whole knight in shining armor bit, I've enjoyed all the attention, really I have, but I need you to take it down a couple of notches today." I said nothing, but my look conveyed my determination. He sighed heavily, and leaned against the door frame, folding his arms. The light from the windows in the other room spilled behind him, framing his slender silhouette. Heero had always been small, but now it seemed like the light almost engulfed him completely. When had he gotten so thin? And why was I just noticing it now? I suddenly felt very defeated, and looked the other way, my eyes burning with anger at something unknown. I'd been fighting the enemy for a long time now, but it had no face and no name. I never asked Heero many questions about his life or what he did when he vanished. Far be it from me to pry into people's personal business, right? He would tell me everything he wanted me to know, wouldn't he? That's why I didn't ask about the envelope he had almost completely hidden beneath his arm at that moment.

"Fine," I whispered, my voice hollow. I felt the mattress tremble ever so slightly, and I knew he was sitting next to me. I didn't turn my head.

"Duo," he said at length.

"What is it?" I asked, still avoiding his gaze.

"Do you ever miss your family back in the states?"

"Where did that suddenly come from?" I furrowed my eyebrows and glanced at him. He was scratching Aisha's head as she climbed into his lap. Traces of the damage done to his face still remained, but the swelling had gone down, significantly.

"I don't know, you don't talk about them much, and you never go visit them."

"When would I even have the time for something like that!" I exclaimed a little louder than necessary. "And I call...once every two weeks."

"I didn't mean it like that," he quickly explained. "I just mean, well, do you think family is...important?"

"Sure," I shrugged, still not certain where this conversation was heading. "Is this about your parents?"

He said nothing. I remember his parents being mentioned back when I first met him, and I got the impression that they weren't on the best of terms, but I didn't really think there was any more to it than that. I never really bothered to ask the reason why.

"It's not...not exactly," he finally said, his voice so low I could barely hear him. "It's just that, lately, it's hard for me to forget some things." Something within my chest twinged. He suddenly looked up at me, smiling, but there was little joy on his face. "I'm sorry, I must be driving you crazy with this nonsense. All I really want is for you to be happy, and I don't seem to be doing a very good job helping with that, lately."

I felt like something was tearing my heart out. I didn't know how to answer, but as if of their own accord, my arms reached out and folded around him, drawing him in and crushing him tightly against my chest. I buried my face into his neck, and he let his chin rest on my shoulder, and we stayed like that for a long time. My nose was buried in his skin, drinking in his scent. I felt every small and delicate breath that passed through his lungs, my breathing unconsciously mirroring his own. When I finally let him go, he smiled the way he used to, a long time ago. I let him leave after that, alone, the raging storms within me having somewhat calmed just as they began outside. I laid in bed for a while and listened to the rain, while I thought about our relationship over the past year. I tried to pet Aisha, but without Heero around, she spat at me and ran back into the living room. Things had kind of gotten off track somewhere along the way, but that didn't mean it was beyond repair. Maybe we needed to quit the band, retire, and move somewhere far away. Maybe we could even live in the states for a while, or move to some tropical island and live out the rest of our lives in tranquility. Maybe then, we would be happy. An hour or so later, I finally got up to fix myself some lunch. Visions of romps with Heero in white sand amidst the palm trees were dancing around in my head, when my bare foot stepped on something that crinkled. I looked down to see the small white envelope Heero had been holding, lying on the floor. I retrieved it, and something rattled around and fell to the corner. It was unsealed, and curiosity getting the best of me, I unfolded the flap and peered inside. The shine of silver caught my eye, and I carefully reached in and drew out a tiny, heart shaped locket. It felt ice cold in my warm hands. Why would Heero be carrying around something like this, I wondered. I inserted my thumb nail and popped it open. Inside were two, very small pictures. I had to squint to even make them out. The one to the left was of Heero, and the one to the right was a young and beautiful blond woman. She had a sweet face, but there was definitely something mischievous lurking behind her large, blue eyes and her smile was more of an impish smirk. I stared at the picture for a very long time, studied it. I felt like I was on the verge of understanding, and if I gazed at the locket just a little longer, it would all suddenly make sense. But the epiphany never came, and I closed it with a little snap, placing it back inside the envelope.

I never confronted Heero about the locket, and as the weeks wore on, I tried to control my increasing paranoia. Suddenly, everything Heero did or said was colored with some sort of hidden meaning, and I could see those damn, blue eyes, mocking me. She knew. Whoever she was had him all figured out, I was sure of it. My head ached from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed. On top of it all, the regular world was not accommodating my current stresses. We were busier than ever: working on the new album, going to interviews, shooting music videos. The list of things to do was always never ending. I was so preoccupied in my own thoughts all the time, I barely noticed the new girl Trowa always had hanging around, and I barely noticed how listless and despondent Quatre was growing. He was nineteen now, and had long ago stopped dressing up in women's clothing. Trowa had taken it as a step in the right direction; he thought it was for the best that the teen try to attain some level of normalcy. Well, as normal as an ultra popular music star could be, I guess. He'd released his own solo album a few months back, and it was pretty well received. He was becoming his own franchise, and only had additional appointments after the band's had concluded. In addition to that, he spent most of his free time throwing outrageous parties in his condo that were a little more wild than anything I'd ever experienced. I only ever attended one. There were more kids there than you could shake a stick at. Well, I'm hoping they were around Quatre's age. It was hard to tell, most of them were wearing masks, and there was so much smoke and flashing lights everywhere, I was constantly bumping into half naked, intoxicated people. Quatre was perched in a small balcony overlooking the festivities, his hand loosely holding a half empty bottle of wine. He wasn't dressed up, or wearing a mask. For once, he was the most normal looking person in the building. He gazed at the ongoings beneath him with large, glassy eyes. I remember asking him why he wasn't down there having a good time. After all, it was his party.

"I enjoy it best from here," he said simply, taking a swig from his bottle. "I enjoy watching them have a good time."

As for Heero, the music he'd begun composing of late became increasingly chaotic. I think he knew I was cross with our situation, and all that came to his creative mind was a complete jumble of discordant noise, almost physically painful to listen to. Heero never acted any differently towards me, but all of the lyrics he wrote were either downright angry or utterly depressing. I watched the circles under his eyes grow darker and darker and felt utterly helpless. My face wasn't looking so good, either. My dreams became increasingly troublesome, and what sleep I did catch was spent tossing and turning. There were times towards the end of the day that I felt like I couldn't breathe, and I would cough excessively. What I'd been able to so easily stuff down in the past kept breaking the surface of my consciousness at the most inopportune times. A car backfiring almost sent me into a panic. I had to use ear plugs for the construction next door. Once, Trowa walked up behind me when I had headphones on, and I almost knocked him out. Always quick, he swiftly sidestepped my elbow, catching it with his hand.

"Just me," he said quietly. "Calm down." I hated the sympathy in his voice. I coughed in response. I would have been much happier if he'd just swung back at me. The last thing I wanted was pity, although it would have been nice if Wufei gave a little give in his unrelenting, new found hatred of me. All these things were swirling around in my mind when I entered the apartment that night. How Soon is Now by The Smiths drifted through the tall rooms, and I knew Heero must have gotten home sometime while I was away. He was stretched out on the couch, one foot dangling lazily to the floor. His shirt lay crumpled up on the coffee table, and his hands were draped across his bare stomach. He gazed up at the ceiling, barely noticing I'd come in the room. I could tell by his completely vacant stare and unresponsiveness that he was completely high on whatever drug of choice it was this week. I spied the puncture marks on the inside of his arm, and it was all I could do to control my rage. Of course I knew Heero used drugs, but we'd always had an unspoken agreement of sorts where he kept that part of his life completely hidden from me, and in turn, I looked the other way. There was nowhere to turn that night.

I threw down the satchel I was carrying, not caring about the amount of clatter it made against the hard floor, as the contents scattered across the room. I hoped it hurt his head as much as it did mine. He startled badly, naturally, and his eyes flickered towards me, his head following a moment later.

"Oh, hi there," he mumbled, rubbing his temples. I flipped on the main light switch, and light flooded the room. He hissed, shielding his eyes tightly from the onslaught. "Fuck," he breathed in irritation.

"Hi," I said flatly. "Glad we happened to bump into each other, today." There was absolutely no humor in my voice. "Do you know where I've been for the past four hours?" Heero didn't answer as he continued protecting his eyes from the offensive light. I coughed harshly, and I felt a little light headed. I was not liking the light much either.

"Oh my, you're angry," his speech was uncharacteristically slow and dripping with sarcasm. "So, what else is new, hm?" I glared at him and coughed again. "Let's see, where were you? Ah! I know! I made you sit at a boring meeting all day while I sat around and did absolutely nothing except drink and get high. Does that sound about right?" He narrowed his eyes at me and languidly sat up on an elbow. "Oh, I'm pissing you off now. Good." he let himself fall back down. "What are you going to do about it? Lecture me? Punch me in the face? You know, you do that a lot in your sleep."

I do what?

"What?" I managed, wheezing a little.

"It's sad, but I actually like it when you're mad. It's the only time I know you're here."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ground out. All I could think was that he must have taken some seriously hard stuff and was babbling incoherently. "I'm always here! You're the one always taking off to fuck knows where!" It was all almost impossible to take in at once. I'd never dreamed that I could be this angry at him. For possibly the first time, I looked at Heero as his own being, someone completely separate from myself, how I should have been looking at him all along. When you love someone, sometimes it's difficult to distinguish where one ends and the other begins in your mind. Where one goes, the other goes, and you may not agree about everything, but one usually bends without any hesitation, so that there might as well have never been any altercation at all. Then, little by little, the other begins to act on their own once more, and you become puzzled, then angry. It's as if your right arm won't respond to your commands, and occasionally reaches up and slaps you in the face. Then you realize that things really aren't like how you'd always perceived them to be. Maybe that was all love really was, a transient faze, an eclipse that comes along ever so often, but from then on is ever shifting out of position. What had happened to my constant? How would I tether myself now?

"You're not even fucking listening to me!" Heero's near screaming and hitting me in the face with a throw pillow instantly brought me back to the moment. It had a circular pattern of beading on the front, so it kind of hurt. I guess he'd been talking the entire time. "Never mind! It's useless! This whole thing was just useless!" He ran a hand through his messy hair and quieted. "I don't know who you are. I thought I did. I really thought I...," he shook his head, his eyes wide and vacant. He slowly walked toward me. "I can't compete with a memory. At first, I thought it was Hilde, but no. It's something else. I've tried," he inhaled deeply, "so hard to understand. I know it hurts you. I never brought it up because I know it hurts you. I see it." He looked me in the eye for a just a moment before turning away. I stared at him, dumbfounded by it all. I had no idea he'd felt that way all this time. I blinked at him, at a complete loss for words. This was really him and not the drugs talking. What did this mean? As if to answer my question, he reached up and tapped a scar at the base of my neck with his fingertip; a tiny, insignificant thing, really. I had a few of them on my body, but I didn't think he'd ever noticed. "Well, where do we go from here?" he asked, suddenly stepping back and folding his arms, the distant look leaving his eyes. "You tell me. You fucking say something!" he yelled, pointing an accusing finger toward me.

I'd been silent throughout, my mind a complete blur. I coughed again and looked inward, searching for the answer I knew he was looking for. But it was to no avail. Inevitably, it all led to that foreboding, black box in the far corner of my mind, and I could not open it. Every time I tried, I was met with a raging river of fear and anger, things I didn't want to feel. But I was sure feeling them then, anyhow.

"Fuck it," I mumbled, rubbing my temples. I felt very cold.

"What?" Heero glanced up, ears straining to catch what I said.

"I said 'fuck it'!" I thundered so loudly, I think the glass in the room vibrated. Aisha had been padding past my feet right then, and she pressed her body flat against the floor, hissing loudly at me with her ears flat against her head. I don't know why I did it, there was no thought involved with my current mental state. I reached down, grabbed the stupid thing by the scruff, and veritably flung the cat in Heero's direction. It let out a terrified squeak as it hit the couch. "Get that thing away from me, now," I commanded, before erupting into a fit of coughing again. Heero quickly gathered the rattled and frightened creature in his arms, and took a step back from me, staring in disbelief.

"Duo," his voice shook a little, as if he were actually afraid. I couldn't stand it.

"You're killing me," I said between deep breaths, calming myself.

Heero looked at me with his stormy blue eyes misting. "You were dead long before I met you," he whispered. Then he left, taking his cat with him. I watched him walk out the door like I was having an out of body experience, and I knew he wouldn't come back. Hilde hadn't come back, Solo hadn't come back, and Heero wasn't going to come back either. My knees bent of their own will, and I slowly sank down against the wall. I don't know how long I stayed like that. Was this really going to be the story of my life?

No...

I heaved myself up to my feet and raced to the elevator. I mashed the ground floor button repeatedly the entire way down. The wind was howling outside, driving the rain almost sideways as I ran to my car. He couldn't have gotten far, and there were only so many places I thought he would go. I could fix this! There had to be a way to fix this!

When my car didn't start, I punched my side window in frustration and let my head fall on the steering wheel. I eventually got out, but I couldn't bare the thought of returning to an empty apartment.

* * *

><p>"There has to be something!" I whispered, wincing as I tugged at the zip cords that bound my hands behind my back one more time. We'd just been thrown on a dirty mattress, in a small, empty room of a building that looked like it might have been a home once upon a time. "We've got to get out of here!" Solo opened his eyes and lifted his head.<p>

"Patience, Maxwell," he whispered back with a lopsided grin that came off more as a grimace. I could see the many cuts and bruises all over his head and torso from our capture and transport. Dried blood covered his face and neck, and I wondered if I looked similar. They'd been much harsher on Solo, though. I think they must have realized he was the leader of our squad. Even so, Solo had remained calm through it all for my sake, and his eyes shone brightly behind his swollen lids. "We'll get a chance. I need you to stay quiet and follow my lead, okay?"

"Hooah, Sarge." I swallowed the huge lump in my throat and tried to calm myself. I eyed the two men standing guard at our door, wearily.

"You're gonna make it," I looked at him, wide-eyed. "Don't give up, Maxwell. When have I ever let you down? I promise, you're going to get out of here. And when you do," he locked eyes with me, "You fucking live, private."

I nodded slowly, and then one of the men at the door turned and spat at us, angrily. I had no idea what they were saying, but he gestured to his partner and pointed at us wildly. Maybe he'd heard us talking. He aimed the barrel of his AK-47 directly at my nose, mere inches away from my face. Staring down the barrel of a gun gave my stomach the same sensation of falling off a tall building, and a flush of prickly and hot dread swept over my body. At some point, Solo had brought his hands from behind his back and slid them under his feet. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and pushed it away, glaring at the man angrily. He stared them down so fiercely, they paused for a moment, gaping at his nerve. However, they soon recovered, and the man quickly brought the butt around, smashing it against the side of his head.

"Hey-!" was all I got out before I met the same fate. The next I awoke, I'd been moved to, the best I could tell, a very deep, covered pit somewhere outside the village. The dirt felt unusually cold against my legs, and there was a pounding in my head that was a whole new level of pain I'd never experienced. I groaned and dry heaved. They'd taken my watch and pretty much everything else on our persons, so I had no idea what time it was. It was so dark, that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. The temperature continued to drop to the point where I began to lose any feeling in my limbs. In a way, it was a mercy, as it helped sooth some of the aching in my muscles and bones. After sitting a while, in blind misery, it seemed like I didn't even have a body anymore. I could no longer tell if my eyes were open or closed, if I was breathing or not. I was just a spirit, hovering in the darkness. A cough from a few feet away drew my attention and I heard someone curse and shuffle about. I guess I wasn't alone.

"Who's there?" I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

The man breathed heavily for a moment before answering. "Friendly, I was translator for the U.S. Army. You American, no?"

"Yes," I croaked, feeling my legs to make sure they were still there. "Can you tell me what's going on? What are they going to do with us? Where's the soldier that was with me?"

The man let out a dry cackle that sent shivers up my spine. "You do not want to know what they are planning, you trust me in this. They forced me to interrogate your friend. That soldier, he is a brave man. He never said a word, no matter what they did to him."

"They tortured him?..." I whispered, feeling sick again.

"Yes," he made no effort to hide it. He was probably used to seeing it by now. "I'm sorry, but I don't think your friend is long for this world. Don't worry, though. You'll be meeting him in heaven very soon."

"Just shut up!" I growled, staggering to my feet. I felt the cool, dirt walls with my palms and traced the perimeter. The man shuffled out of my way as I limped along. The best I could tell, we were in some kind of large, old well, but there was no way out. There was no way out, but I kept circling all the same. I must have made a thousand circles before there was a noise above our heads. They lifted the cover, and there was a blinding flood of light. I crouched, covering my eyes. They were trying to water, but I was so dehydrated, there was just pain. There was a thud, some conversation I didn't understand, and we were once again plunged into darkness. I heard something between a cough and a sickening gurgle.

"Sergeant!" I crawled over to where the noise had come from, feeling my way across the dirt with my hands. "Sergeant?" My outstretched fingers touched something wet and sticky and hot, and I choked back a sob. There was so much blood, the scent of it overwhelmed my senses, making me gag.

"Is not good, not good," the man clicked his tongue.

"What did they say?" I demanded of the other man in our well.

"They say...you will be next." Little sympathy was in his voice. Well, that was just fucking peachy. I took of my shirt and pushed it against a large wound I felt in Solo's chest. I might as well have not bothered. After a quick run down from the back of his head to his legs, my hands were covered with blood and god only knows what else. It was as if they'd put his body through a meat grinder. My body mustered up enough water for one tear to slowly roll down my cheek, blazing a trail through the mud and blood that covered it, and I shook with rage. I startled when a bloodied and warm hand gripped one of my wrists.

"Maxwell," I could barely recognize his voice as he choked through the blood in his throat. I turned him on his side, hoping to help clear his airways. "I'm okay...I'm okay...," his voice was growing fainter and fainter.

"You're not okay!" I almost screamed, still trembling. "Just be still!"

"Maxwell, I'm sorry," he was practically whispering now and, and he had to take long pauses to breathe. They were raspy a labored. I was afraid he had air getting into his lungs from a puncture, but I could do little about it in the dark with no supplies. "If I had...waited for security...we wouldn't..."

"Shut up! It doesn't matter anymore! Just shut up!"

He didn't respond. I think he must have passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

_This chapter definitely deserves it's M rating... What can I say? War is ugly! "It is what it is". Sorry it's a bit shorter this round, readers. And it's going to be a while before I can update again, but I'll be working on it inside my head, I promise! Thanks for reading!_  
><p>

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><br>It may be difficult to believe, but at some point I must have fallen asleep. At least, I think I did. When I eventually came to my senses again, I staggered to my feet, hearing voices above us.  
>"What," that's all I could manage, and it was little more than a hoarse croak. My throat was completely dry and full of sand. The man didn't answer. Maybe he was bad off as well. "Hey!"<p>"U.S. troops are in the area. They are going to run," his voice sounded as bad as mine. "It is not good."<p>

Was it ever?

"Are they going to kill us?" I struggled to get the words out.

"I can not tell you."

The shouting above us was growing more frenzied. I didn't have too much time to think. Hopefully, our people would find Solo and get him the aid he so desperately needed. His breathing was still labored, but it had evened out. As for me, well, I would fight. I'd rather be shot then and there then show up on some video taped execution. Our cover opened once more, letting the light and fresh air spill in, and I became acutely aware of just how bad it smelled in our enclosure. The scent of blood and urine mixing with the mud made my eyes burn. A rope with a ladder was dropped, and we were instructed to climb. Easier said than done. I threw Solo, who had to have a good thirty pounds on me, across my drooped shoulders, and, painfully, pulled us both up, rung by rung. My bones and tendons popped and ground in protest, but I did not stop until Solo's weight was lifted, and I was grabbed by the arms and hoisted up. It took a few precious seconds for my eyes to adjust to the bright midday sun, and I was dragged, almost totally blind, a few feet before being dropped roughly to the ground. Gradually, shapes and figures emerged in my vision. Solo looked dead, but I could see the lids of his eyes twitching, just barely, as they pulled him along and dropped him near me. Large lacerations covered most of his midsection, but they were no longer bleeding. I wondered if he had any blood left in his body; his skin was a clammy, sickly gray color. The next thing that caught my eye made me light headed from the blood rush. There was a large, jagged and bloody stone in a small depression not more than twenty feet in front of us. My mouth fell open in horror, but no sound came out.

"Fuck," Solo hissed. I was sad he was conscious for this. The sun was just beginning to descend behind the hills and valleys, casting an orange glow over the uneven terrain. I gazed around, having no idea where they'd brought us. Thick brush and scruffy trees littered the hill sides, but I could see no buildings or signs of civilization. The interpreter was dragged away from us quite abruptly toward the rock. He was crying and screaming in his native tongue. I guess he'd thought he was sticking around a bit longer. It was amazing how fast the execution took place. There is no slow motion, no epic soundtrack building up the moment. Everything seems eerily still, and the world loses it's color. One of the enemy soldiers approached the two that were holding his head down, casually swinging an over sized machete. They might have been killing a chicken; nothing on their face betrayed any sign that something significant was about to happen. There was almost something strangely natural about the barbarism. We'd been doing this a long time.

With no forewarning, the man with the machete brought the blade down into the back of the interpreter's neck, and the sickening, crunching noise of bone and tendons reached my ears. It was not a clean cut. Taking hold of the hilt with both hands, the enemy soldier pushed down with the weight of his body, forcing the blade the rest of the way. I could see the interpreters rapid heart beat spurt blood from the severed arteries of the mangled stump that used to be his neck, and his head fell into the sand, rolling to one side. It still hung by a strand of elastic skin, which the blade had missed when he pulled away. The not yet dead man's eyes roved around in their wide sockets, his mouth gaping as if he were still trying to scream. His body continued to jerk and twist in the other two guard's hands. Seconds later, he was still. I shut my eyes tightly, clenching my teeth, not knowing what to do.

"Get ready," a voice I barely recognized sounded at my side. I stopped trembling, and crouched without hesitation. "Set..." Solo whispered fiercely. Almost two years of repetition drills cleared my mind of any necessity for thought, and the fog lifted from my mind. "Go!" Solo roared and crashed his full body into one of the men holding his arms. His sudden burst of energy took everyone there completely by surprise. Looking back, I can only imagine that he was saving every last ounce of fight in his broken body for this one, small window of time; a window for me. He produced a pointed rock from seemingly nowhere, and brought it down forcefully into a guard's head. I drove my palm into one guard's nose, crushing it against his skull, and elbowed the other in the ribs before ripping the small knife he had drawn out of his hand. I slashed a deep cut across his neck. Blood misted the air, coating everything in red. The other men, who had participated in the execution, rushed to retrieve their weapons. We were already sprinting by then, but what little strength Solo had gave out, and he had nothing left. I turned just in time to see him dive.

"Sarge!"

"Go, go, go!" he kept screaming it over and over. I started toward him as he strained to bring himself up on his elbows. "Fucking direct order, Maxwell! Get the fuck out of here, now!" He pounded the ground with his fist, panting heavily, and looked me dead in the eye. I shook my head back and forth, and I couldn't stop the tears from falling. "You're gonna be ok, private! Run!" I'll never be sure, but it almost looked like he was smiling behind all of his pain. I didn't think about it anymore. I ran. I ran as fast as I could, which in reality was probably quite slow. The crack of the AK-47's split the air, and I heard the small hiss of bullets next to my head. Nevertheless, I kept running and didn't look back. I only made it twelve hundred yards or so before one of my legs went numb. I plunged to the ground, sliding along the tufts of grass and gravel. I lay there, stunned, panting heavily. I tried to pull myself up on my knees, but I could not feel my leg, and I couldn't move it. To my subsequent horror, I was beginning to lose feeling all over my body. I struggled, jerked, then twitched. I wonder if that's how the deer my grandfather hunted in the woods out back felt, before he put an end to their misery. My eyelids grew heavy. In the distance, I heard my name ring out across the valleys and echo off of the hillsides. Solo was yelling at the top of his lungs; I'd never heard him sound so angry. I guess I'd let him down again, but there would be no playful rap on my helmet or sorry rounds of beer later on. There would be no more hour long bull-shit sessions late at night, full of tall tales and playing UNO with packets of coffee and cigarettes at stake. I couldn't accept it. I could not imagine a place where he did not exist. Even then, I could still hear him, cursing the enemy with every last breath in his body. In my childish mind, I'd always built him up to be some sort of super hero from a comic book, someone impervious to death and all of it's trappings.

Something in my shoulder throbbed. My blood felt cool against my overheated and blistered skin. Solo cursed them to the heavens. He cursed them until his cries were cut mercilessly short. I knew then that my sergeant was dead, and my world became infinitely smaller. The sun finished sinking behind the rolling sea of hills, taking all of my humanity with it. There was no more pain. I lay there, in a puddle of my blood, feeling absolutely nothing. A firefly crawled on top the clump of grass in front of my nose. It flexed its tiny wings and gave off a familiar greenish glow. I closed my eyes and dreamed of a vast sea of tiny lights.

When I regained consciousness, I was back on the FOB in the medical wing. A medic leaned over me, checking the bag of fluids currently flowing into my arm. The pain from the holes that the bullets tore through my body was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the mental anguish that engulfed me once I became cognizant again.

"How we doin' soldjia'," the medic said with his thick accent straight from the Virgin Islands. I just wept, openly. "Oh no!" The large, black soldier clucked at me reassuringly. "It is ok, it is ok, soldjia'! You gonna be just fine!" I just shook my head at him, and I cried until I had nothing more and fell into a deep sleep.

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><p>When I was seventeen, I was a pallbearer at my grandfather's funeral. My mother's side of the family had been Catholic for generations, and I stood in the small chapel that the community shared with all the denominations in the area, in a cheap suit, my hands clasped in front of me. He'd fought in the Korean War, so my grandmother wanted him to be buried in his Class A's. Some local AIT soldiers had come out to do funeral detail, sounding off, firing their rifles. It was the fanciest thing I'd ever seen in my short, sheltered life. My grandfather lay there, looking a little like Willie Nelson with glasses, in military dress, his gray hair neatly braided over his shoulder. My hair had always been long as well. I usually kept it in a ponytail, and was constantly being called "hillbilly" by the city kids at school. Not that I cared too much. My grades were better than theirs. But for some reason, it felt right to me to braid it that day, so my grandmother, through many tears, painstakingly fixed it for me. She was there now, in a plain black dress, a little black veil hanging over her wrinkled face.<p>

"Here, honey," she waved me closer. "Doesn't he just look great?" she whispered. Every now and then, the trail her tears had made would catch the light and glisten. I looked down into the casket. I didn't think he looked so great. His body appeared very flat, his hands even bonier now that the tissue had shrunk. Whatever powder or paste they'd used on his face caked in the folds of his gaunt skin, grayish in pallor, making his lips appear very red, like he was wearing lipstick. It was fucking ridiculous, and if he'd been standing there with me, seeing what I saw, he would have had himself a good laugh. "Like he could just sit up and start talking to ya, huh?" I saw her small, black eyes glittering through the lace. "Don't you think so, Duo-love?"

"Yeah, Grams, he looks real good," I offered, not looking her in the eye. She reached down and stroked his bangs, which were combed over his forehead. She then removed the rosary beads that were wound around his folded hands.

"Here, honey. He would have wanted you to have these." She let the cold beads fall and coil in my open palm, and closed my hand with both of hers. I knew it wasn't true. Gramps had probably only been to church twice in his life; once when he was just born, and the other time when he got married. But it wasn't really for him. He was dead.

"Thanks, Grams."

She clung to my side with her frail arms, and started to cry again. She stayed like that for a good bit of time. I let her, and continued to gaze at my grandfather's body. "Well," she sniffed, releasing her hold on me. "Go ahead. Tell him goodbye."

My heart began to beat fast. I wasn't quite sure what she wanted me to do, but I knew I had to do something. I edged closer to the side of the casket and reached out my hand, covering his forehead. It looked as if I was giving him a blessing rather than a goodbye.

"See ya, Gramps," I whispered. He felt very cold.

* * *

><p>I opened my eyes and stared up at the sterile, white ceiling. When it finally occurred to me to move, I found that I had great difficulty, and my right arm ached. I could not budge anything except my head. Stiffly, I brought my chin to my chest and looked down. Strong leather straps covered my extremities over the flimsy, hospital issued blanket. At first, I thought that I was still in the Gulf, and the past seven years had just been a long and strange dream. My eyes traversed the room. All of the door signs and posters were in Japanese; a big fat negative on the dream theory. How lavishly decorated the room was should have been my first tip off. It looked more like a luxury suite with hospital equipment than your average medical facility. Potted plants and flowers were clustered in the far corners of the room, and a large reproduction of Monet's Water Lilies hung on the far wall. My bed sat next to a large window, jacquard curtains drawn back, overlooking fountain gardens and gazebos. I immediately hated it. I hated everything at that moment. A young nurse with glasses and her long black hair pulled back into a neat bun walked through the door, her small, white tennis shoes making almost no sound on the marble tiles. I think I would have thrown something at her had my hands not been tied down. As it was, I just gave a little cough.<p>

"Good morning, Mr. Maxwell," she trilled, happily. "We were hoping you'd wake up soon." She reached over and checked the readings on the machines I was currently wired to. I eyed her, wearily. "Huge fan, by the way. The doctor will be in shortly." When I still didn't respond, she changed the bandages on my hand in silence. I couldn't move any of my fingers, and long, ugly, black stitches pulled and stretched my swollen and mangled skin. It looked like it should have hurt a great deal more, but I didn't feel much pain. The morphine was working it's magic. I vaguely remembered punching my car window, but nothing else. She finished and smiled at me with large, soft brown eyes, and my anger ebbed and began to melt away. "How are you feeling?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"I don't feel anything," I whispered, hoarsely. It was hard to speak with the tubes running down my throat.

"Good! You hang in there, Mr. Maxwell."

She left, and I closed my eyes, drifting back to sleep. The next I awoke, there was a man in a long white coat, speaking to the doe-eyed nurse who'd last checked my vitals. When he turned to one side to write something down on a memo pad, I almost groaned. His face was almost a dead ringer for Heero's.

"God damn, mother fucker, son of a-" I muttered, flexing against the leather restraints in my agitation. Hearing my voice, the doctor and the nurse both looked up, and she excused herself from the room with a little bow. The doctor put his hands in his coat pockets and began advancing toward me, every molecule in my body shrinking away with each step he took. Picking up the clipboard at the foot of my bed, he looked down and slid a rolling stool to my side with the tip of his pointed, leather toe. After hitching back his coat tails with a sweep of his hands, he sat down with a sigh. He gazed at me with those painfully familiar, unblinking blue eyes, the kind of blatant stare that you shrivel under, and tapped the top of the clipboard slowly and methodically with his pen. He adjusted the spectacles he was wearing to look even more closely. My eyes flickered back and forth between him and the window, and I tried to control the aching feeling which threatened to erupt into a fit of coughing deep in my chest. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be out of that room. He had to know what it was doing to me. On one of my brief glances, I noticed the mysterious absence of a name tag. After I began feeling like I had gone quite insane, he let up and looked down at my charts. Pursing his lips together, he made small, whistling sounds as he sucked air in through them. His dark brown hair was swept back, but a few rebellious strands that the gel had missed fell forward when he looked down. His eyebrows arched slightly, then furrowed, then one went up and the other down. It was quite the display. The resemblance was far too great to be a coincidence. To me, he looked like a larger, refined version of Heero, but far too young to be his father.

"Alright, Mr. Maxwell, let's get started, shall we?" Had we been waiting for something? At least his voice was very different. It was deep and calm, almost cold; a dark, frozen cavern which concealed all emotion. "You're a very lucky man. If you'd been brought to us any later, you'd probably be dead." He stopped and searched my face, as if waiting for some sort of reaction. I'm sure most of his patients would have responded with some sort of shock and a million questions. I was busy staring out the window at a girl in a purple sundress, playing with her puppy. "I can see that you really don't care. That's fine, but it is my duty to inform you that you have acute pneumonia." It was impossible to tell if he was being snide from the tone of his voice, but I flashed him an angry glare all the same. "You were brought in unconscious and in severe respiratory distress. And I apologize for the restraints, but I'm going to have to insist you keep those on while I'm in here, at least. You have a tendency to become very violent, though I believe you are unaware of it. It gave one of my nurses quite the scare." I felt a little guilty about that, and furrowed my eyebrows. "You also had severe lacerations across your knuckles and the top of your hand. Looks as if you punched through glass sometime that night. It nicked some of your tendons, but you should regain almost full use of your digits, with therapy. Although, I'm sorry to inform you that your hand will never be quite the same," he really sounded anything but sorry. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"Who brought me here?" My throat was still parched and my voice sounded gruff.

"A Mr. Barton and Mr. Wufei drove you to our emergency ward about four days ago."

Four days? It had been four days and there was no one except this snarky, doctor, Heero look-alike by my side. I think I actually physically deflated, sinking further down into the bed. I felt very low.

"Now that's out of the way, how about I let you satisfy some of my curiosity?" I was a little surprised at the familiar tone the stranger was taking with me. "If you don't mind my asking, what compels a man to wander around downtown Tokyo in the pouring rain when he's practically suffocating to death?"

"I just felt like going for a walk."

"That's the most stupid reason I ever heard," he declared, throwing my clipboard down on the bed. He folded his arms and crossed his legs, and a smile was on his face, but I could see no good will behind it. "I would guess you were high or drunk, but I know you don't abuse substances as a general rule. You value control of yourself and your surroundings too greatly to willingly incapacitate yourself. That's why I'm a little surprised to see you in this condition. I don't usually speak with patients one on one anymore, but I was just dying to know." I blinked at him, completely dumb. "I can see you are a man of few words. Normally, nothing would please me more, but right now I want you to dig really deep and muster up enough courage to come out of that comfy, little tower of self pity you've erected in your mind."

Did this person know me? "Please just leave," I implored, my body far too weak to even care to be enraged.

"What? Life isn't all sunshine and rainbows, anymore?" he smirked. "You people are always so dramatic."

"I'm sorry?"

"And you refuse to accept responsibility for your carefree way of life. I've never seen so much shameless, emotional masturbation. Well, now you're tied down, and you really can't run anymore. What will you do, little princess?" There was a hostility I could tell he was trying to conceal, but it pervaded the shadow of the conversation. I was beginning to get an inkling of what was going on in my drugged and sluggish mind.

"Who are you?" I finally asked, already guessing the answer.

"I'm the director of this hospital." My eyes became tiny slits. He knew that was not what I meant. "Oh, I'm sorry," he chuckled, "You mean, how do I already know you? Well, I fail to see why I should answer your question if you won't answer any of mine, but oh well. Heero is my spoiled, little twit of a brother, and I know you're his boyfriend, and oh how I have been just dying to meet you." Somehow I doubted that. I'd never had someone who did not run in my small circle spell our relationship out so blatantly, and it startled me for some reason. He stood, slipping his hands into his pockets again, and arched his neck slightly, the exact way Heero always did, but it came off like an entomologist studying a specimen; condescending. I felt my skin crawl. "I know lots of things, Mr. Maxwell, and I'd go so far as to venture that I know a good deal more than you do about your housemate, believe me." I did. "Well, thank you for nothing. I'll be in to check on you later."

"Wait," I cried, tugging against the restraints as he turned to leave. He arched a dark eyebrow as he slowly turned on his heels back toward me.

"Yes?"

"...I want to talk to you-"

"Oji, Oji!" Uncle, uncle! The voice of a small child interrupted us, and the girl I'd seen playing with the puppy, not more than six or seven years old, came rushing in and grasped the doctor's pants leg, her long, almost black, hair falling over her shoulders in a flourish from the sudden stop.  
>"Lita!" the doctor was genuinely surprised, and he immediately stepped in between my vision and her. "How did you get up here?" He stooped down and placed his hands on her small, round shoulders. His voice was stern, but it had a very gentle quality, more gentle than I would have imagined him capable of being, given our previous conversation.<p>

"I want to show you the trick Mary learned!" she squealed, flushed and excited. It'd been a long time since I'd heard the small voice of a child. "Come on, come on!" She began jumping up and down in her insistence, and the doctor stood, shoving her towards the direction of the door.

"Yes, yes, I'll be right there. Go wait with Auntie, I just need to finish taking care of a patient."

"Is he very sick?" she asked, and she swung back around his legs to peer at me with her large blue eyes. She furrowed her tiny eyebrows and her cherry colored lips pouted with concentration, as she assessed my situation. There was a flash of silver around her neck. I looked and saw the same tiny, silver locket I'd stepped on weeks earlier, dangling on a chain. All of the color drained from my face. It couldn't be... "Oh, yup, he's definitely sick," she announced, after seeing my shocked expression.


	5. Chapter 5

_I get to post a little sooner than I thought I would, so I'm going to jump on the opportunity! So, here's what I have so far. Thanks to everyone who's been following along! :D_

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><p>"That was most unfortunate," the doctor commented, after lifting the child and physically removing her from the room and closing the door.<p>

"Is that...?"

"That is my daughter."

"She called you 'uncle'."

"A mere technicality. For all intents and purposes, I am her father."

"I see," I whispered.

"Lita is just one more thing on a long list of forgotten responsibilities, and his recent attempts to interject himself back into her life do not excuse it," he said, looking back to the door. "Do you have any siblings, Mr. Maxwell?"

"No."

"Then you should count yourself lucky in at least one respect. I've spent far too great an amount of time cleaning up after my brother's messes, more than I'd care to think about," he swung his snake like gaze back toward me. "And now here you are, and the family has heard neither heads or tails of our little super star."

Heero had disappeared again. I really wasn't surprised. "What does this have to do with me?" I didn't try to hide the suspicion in my voice.

"A great deal, Mr. Maxwell," he said, flashing a sinister smile. "For all of my brother's shortcomings, I don't let that color my view of him completely. Heero's a very compassionate person. He's what we refer to as a giver. He will give to the point where it just becomes another detrimental fault that wears him down, especially with his condition."

"Wait, what condition?" I blinked.

He looked at me sharply, and I could tell he was surprised I didn't already know. He weighed telling me in his mind for a second, and must have decided it would help his cause. "Heero is a diagnosed manic depressive, with accompanying fibromyalgia. But his is a strange mania in it's own respect, I suppose. I'm sure you've noticed it before. He will never hit back." His face darkened, slightly. "It's the furthest thing from admirable, really; by overcompensating for your deficiencies in one area, you create more in others. There's a hole that must be filled somehow. Do you understand?" I nodded. I understood all too well, and my stomach began to twist, painfully. Heero had been trying all this time to take care of me, when it should have been the other way around. All of the drugs and alcohol, the insomnia, the seemingly endless energy with which he applied himself to his music, they became little, fucking puzzle pieces which fell so neatly into place, and I hated myself for not seeing it before. Why hadn't he told me? After all this time, did I know him at all? "You're the latest emotional stray he's adopted, minus the responsibility of true dependence. But he chose a real problematic person this time around. He's bitten off a little more than he can chew, otherwise he'd be here by your side, all teary-eyed and doting." He folded his arms and began that annoying tapping of his pen again, against his sleeve.

"I don't believe that," I lied.

"Oh yes you do. You're just terrified of what it means. Let me spell it out for you, Mr. Maxwell," he sank back down leisurely on the stool. "You are a taker, a a parasite, a leech which drains the soul bone dry, a true predator on the stupid and the naive. But I bet you don't see it that way. You probably feel put out and angry a good deal of the time, because you can't truly relate to another human being, even though you're under the sad delusion that you do. You must be this way, otherwise Heero wouldn't be with you. But I must confess, he's never been rooted to one spot for so long, and I know all the music foolishness in the world isn't enough to do that. Which brings me back to my original question. What compels a man like you to wander around in the rain when he's half dead? Must have been quite the falling out."

"I'm not going to deny that a lot of what you said is true," I ignored the question again and remained calm, flexing my hurt arm against the leather, "but I think you've got your brother all wrong."

"Oh, do you now?" He sounded slightly amused.

"I can't speak for what he was like in the past and he's not perfect. Hell, no one's perfect, but he tries damn hard and I think he deserves more than what you're dishing out."

"I really couldn't care less what you think, Mr. Maxwell," he sighed, but I could tell I had irritated him. "Let's shift the conversation back to the problem at hand; back to yourself. You're the current pile of dust which needs to go in my dust bin."

"Fuck off."

"Not likely. I'm your doctor, and you're in desperate need of my expertise." I think I would have felt safer with a pile of snakes. "So, since you still won't answer my question, and I know it's because you really don't have a good answer, I'll go ahead and prescribe some special instructions that the course of your life will now take." He clicked his pen top and pointed the tip at me. "Once you've recovered sufficiently enough to stand on your own two feet, I want you to use them and leave Japan; immediately. Please believe me when I tell you that you have absolutely nothing to offer this family, even after pardoning your depraved lifestyle choices."

"And what if I were to say...fuck you?"

"I would highly discourage that." he leaned over to the I.V. cart and tapped the morphine bag. "Accidents happen all the time in hospitals. It's why we have insurance."

"Are you really threatening me?" I almost laughed. My complete lack of fear quieted him for a moment, and he stared at me, recalculating. Oh, what the hell. I was feeling spry enough at the moment, in spite of my current condition. "You're right, I'm a terrible person. But so are you. So let me get down and dirty with you."

"I beg your pardon?" his eyebrows shot high into the air.

"You're a prick. After being around you for fifteen minutes, I can see why Heero can't stand his family. You're selfish and condescending. I don't know what you think you know about me, but let me assure you that you do not scare me, not even a little. What I do and where I go is my own damn business. You don't like me, I get it. We never crossed paths before and I doubt we'll ever do it again. But don't sit up there on your fucking high horse and talk about my life so casually. I know you, too, and I figured it out in a fraction of the time. You were a straight A student. You were athletic. You were the perfect son. Your parents put an overwhelming amount of pressure on you to succeed," my raspy voice was growing louder in my fevered state, "So much so that your biggest fear became their disappointment. So you studied and struggled for years to become what you are today. And while we're on the subject of admirable qualities, you appear to have many, but they're all just responses to stimuli, to fear. You can't extricate yourself from the pile of screaming amoebas this shit world is, and I bet that just pisses you off to no end."

He threw back his head and laughed loudly, the sound filling every empty space in the room. Eventually, he paused to catch his breath and wiped a tear from his now moist eyes. He'd probably never had someone speak to him that way. "Maybe so, maybe so," he conceded, still chuckling here and there. "I should have expected more from you, especially since I pulled your medical history from Okinawa. You're a little more seasoned than you look. Who knows, maybe that's what he sees in you." He rose to take his leave. "But I'm afraid I must stand firm. Heero belongs with his family and where I can keep a better eye on him. Try to think beyond yourself for just a moment."

"I am," I said, stubbornly. I couldn't imagine being around this joker was honestly better than living with me. Now I felt like I had to freaking save him, or something. The one problem was, that I was currently the monstrosity he was running from.

"You're really going to put him through more than you already have?" The doctor narrowed his eyes. "Can you really not see how miserable you make him?"

"Half of everything on this fucking planet is misery," I growled. "I'm sorry I screwed up the story book family you were trying to create. We'll be fine." As soon as I found him, everything would be just fine. I would tell him. I would tell him everything I'd held in all these years. I'd go back to the base and see counselors. I'd take pills. I would be one of those punk, whiny bitches we always made fun of at the unit, the pansies that cried home to their mommas about the "horrors of war". I'd be that crazy, recovering vet, sans the alcoholism, (Heero drank enough for both of us, anyway). And I didn't care what problems he had. We'd spent our entire lives shouldering all of our burdens alone, as Heero tried to protect me and I'd foolishly been trying to protect myself. It all suddenly seemed so very simple, I wondered what I had been so caught up in before.

"My god...," the doctor said with a look of shear amazement on his face. A cruel smile slowly emerged, and I glared at him. "He didn't tell you, did he? He really didn't trust you with anything."

"What do you mean?"

"Heero is engaged. He'll be married next spring," the doctor gleefully informed me.

"What?" my voice failed me, and I could barely spit the world out. My mind blurred and I was thrown back into familiar chaos. I wouldn't have been shocked in the least if the proverbial elephant in the room had gone ahead and sat on me.

"Oh my, you're upset," the man tsked at me, shaking his head back and forth with feigned pity. "I know that you're ex-military, Mr. Maxwell. You've sworn to always uphold your values and live by your creed. I know that doesn't include home wrecking." I stared at him with large, blank eyes, utterly speechless. The doctor knew then that he had won. "Well, that settles it. I'll go call your coworkers and let them know you're alive, now. It's been an absolute pleasure meeting you, and it'll be an even bigger one to never see you again."

The feeling couldn't be any more mutual.

* * *

><p>I spent the next week drifting in and out of troubled sleep. Oddly enough, my greatest comfort came from speaking with Lita. She would often sneak into my room when her uncle was busy at meetings, bringing her golden retriever puppy, Mary, with her. She was the one source of light during my dark days of recovery, and I would lie there with my eyes half closed, petting the dog and listening to her constant chatter. The poor thing had apparently just been brought home from her boarding school in England, to get to know her biological father at least a little, I imagined, and she didn't appear to have any friends who weren't of the canine persuasion.<p>

"Daddy's a famous rock star," she informed me with a happy chirp, as she traced the lines of her coloring book with a large purple crayon. "I'm named after a rock star, too. Daddy told me so, the last time I saw him." Why didn't that surprise me? "Look what he gave me for my birthday!" she threw down the crayon and rushed over to shove the locket up my nose, practically. "Look, look!" She opened it, her chubby, little fingers covering the pictures I knew she was trying to show me. "That's Daddy and that's Mommy!" She looked down as if to reconfirm this for herself and closed it with a tiny click. "Uncle said no, at first, but Grandfather said I should keep it, so I did." She suddenly became very still, and I knew she was deep in thought. "I've never seen Mommy. Sometimes, she sends me things at school. She's very pretty, isn't she?"

"Very pretty," I agreed.

"I like her hair...I wish my hair looked like that.

"You have your Daddy's hair."

She wrinkled her little nose like a rabbit. "Brown hair is so boring," she mumbled.

"Brown hair is my favorite," I told her.

"Really?" her high voice sounding like Minnie Mouse, because she was happy. A big smile lit up her face. She stood there, combing her fingers through the long, thick strands, swaying from side to side.

"How old are you, Lita?"

"Seven." I didn't know how old Heero was, exactly, but he must have been very young when Lita was born, practically a child himself. It was probably quite a rude awakening into adulthood, and I wondered if that was when things soured in the Yuy household. The comedy was that such a sweet and innocent little thing could be the cause of such grief. "How old are you, Duo?" she asked, tickled that I let her use my given name.

"Twenty-seven."

Her eyes went wide with wonder. "You're soooo old!"

"Not really," I snorted. "But I feel that way, sometimes."

"When are you going to get out of the hospital?"

"Soon. As soon as your uncle lets me."

"Where are you going to?"

"Home. I'm going back home."

"To America?"

"Yes." I don't belong here. Not anymore.

"Oh," she sounded rather disappointed, and I was touched. "I hope I get to see you again."

"I would like that."

We were both silent for a few minutes, and she gradually drifted back to her coloring. It was actually impressive how diligently she applied herself. Her work was straight and even, but she only ever outlined the printed black, never crossing into the picture it defined. I supposed if one could make a living from coloring outside the lines, she would be a millionaire. She lay there on the floor, slowly bending one leg at the knee and bringing the tip of her buckle shoe down to the hard floor with a small thud.

"Lita," her head immediately snapped up in attention. I shifted, the stiff, flat pillows crunching behind my back, and looked at her. "Do you like pancakes?"

I saw an impish smile I felt I knew all too well spread across her small, round face. "Yes! They're my favorite!"  
>"Mine, too."<p>

* * *

><p>"You're so dumb," Quatre sighed, fixing the infinitesimally small, I felt, chopsticks in my clumsy fingers again. "You do it like this!" He snapped his in the direction of my nose.<p>

"My fingers don't bend that way!" I complained. I then curled my tongue up with concentration, but they clattered to the table once more. "Eh! Why can't Japanese people just eat with forks and spoons like the rest of the god damn world! Eating with twigs is dumb!"

"Um, Chinese people eat with chopsticks, too," Wufei pointed out, snapping his eating utensils at me in a similar fashion.

"Yeah. Really, when you think about it, more people are probably eating with chopsticks than without," Trowa said, joining in the chorus of clicking. "China has the largest population."

"I don't need your stinking logic!" I growled, but I was trying awfully hard not to smile as they all began giggling and snorting, evilly. I wasn't sure why, until I felt something pinching my earlobe and swatted Heero's chopsticks away. Everyone thought that was just about the funniest thing in the world, including Heero. Well, that's sake for you, and I laughed too. The sun was still high in the sky, and back in those days, we were above it all and fancy free, and I was drunk on the very idea of the collective experience we were sharing. The smooth wooden top of the kotatsu we sat under reflected a soft yellow glow into the faces that surrounded me from a single lantern which hung in the center of the room, and though it was bitterly cold outside, we kept warm that Christmas Eve.

"You're so dumb," I mimicked Quatre's high tone. "You do it like this." I took the string of Christmas tree lights out of his hands and shoved them further down into the branches, the pine needles tickling my arms and filling the tiny lodge with the scent of pine.

"Whatever. Your stupid tradition, not mine," he snapped, stepping back and cocking his hip out to the side in his familiar way. He continued to observe me stringing the lights around the trunk. "Christmas trees and kotatsus, what the fuck," he mumbled, twisting a one of his black ringlets around a long finger.

"Here," I handed him a glass ornament, shiny red, with a picture of a manger scene, and a small wire hook. "Try to scatter them out."

"Well, duh," he said, stepping up and hanging it as high as he could reach, which even with his tall boots wasn't very far. It immediately slid off and fell to the floor with a shatter. "Oops." There was not much emotion in his voice, as he blinked at the broken pieces scattered across the floor. I guess he was still slightly under the influence. It made sense, Quatre was a light weight. "I think I just slapped your god in the face."

"He's pretty good about taking those, supposedly."

"Yeah, he turns the other cheek, right?"

"I wouldn't really know."

"You're not religious?"

"Are you?"

"Why don't you ever fucking answer people's questions? You always just turn around and ask one. It's annoying," he muttered the last part and bent down to begin collecting fragments into his palm.

"Don't do that, you'll cut yourself. Go get a broom."

"You're not my fucking mo- Ow!"

He dropped the pieces back to the floor and stood, shaking his injured hand with his eyebrows furrowed. I just shook my head. Such a kid. "Here, let me see."

"I'm dying," he said, solemnly, and leaned back his head dramatically, while thrusting his arm toward me for inspection. I rolled my eyes and grabbed his hand to pull it closer.

"What the fuck, don't touch me!" he snapped, jerking his hand out of my grasp.

"I'm sorry," I backed off, holding my hands up. "You're so jumpy! Just chill out!"

He rubbed his injured hand, glaring not at me, but at something else, in some other time. I could see it, and he looked at me and knew I had seen it on his face. It was only a ripple, an instant, and it was gone. "Broom," he said, and turned and left.

"Justice!" Heero cried from the far corner where he, Trowa and Wufei sat in a small circle, playing with the UNO cards I'd packed. I already knew what this was going to be about.

"You can't skip me, Barton just fucking reversed twice! I haven't laid down any cards this entire game, practically!"

"Yeah, but, you know, you skipped me that one time you did."

"You lay down that card, and I will kick your ass," Wufei growled.

"This game is not a good way to make friends," Trowa observed.

"It tests friendships," I offered.

"Oh, beer?" Heero asked me, and he held his arm high in the air as if I was going to actually chuck a can across the room. I retrieved one out of the fridge and pressed it into his palm as I sat down.

"Let's do something else," Wufei said cheerily, throwing down his cards when Trowa produced yet another reverse card. I had the sneaking suspicion that he was quick with his hands and was simply pulling them back from the deck just to be a dick. He still had as many cards as when they'd first begun playing. I shook my head at him, and he just grinned at me. He was such an odd bird, sometimes. "I know, let's do something real men do."

"Oh, ho," Heero rocked back so far with his guffaw, I had to put my hand against the back of his tie-dyed sweater and push him upright again. He was so buzzed, he didn't even notice. "Enlighten us, oh manly one."

"Let's wrestle!"

"That's totally gay!" Heero snorted through the beer can against his lips. "But be my guest. I'll just observe."

"Arm wrestle?" Trowa compromised. Everyone looked at each other (and subsequently, every one's biceps) questioningly. Heero's gaze lingered on me, and his patented sly grin made it's appearance.

"Oh, hell no," I declared, rising to make a hasty escape.

"Duo against Trowa!" Heero yelled slapping his palm down on the floor. "I got fifty bucks on Duo."

"Trowa can take him, easy!" Wufei said, raising his fists into the air with zeal. "He's all air, no substance! You're on!"

"Hey!" I folded my arms, indignantly, and glared at him. "I said I'm not fucking doing it!"

"It's because an American without a gun is completely useless," Wufei whispered, quite loudly. Trowa and Heero just started giggling again. I threw my hands out in invitation.

"Fine! You want a piece of this?" I pointed my thumbs inward. Their eyebrows shot skyward, and they all out laughed at my false bravado. "Bring it!"

Trowa shrugged through his mirth, and we proceeded to set up on the table top. Wufei knelt to the side. "Alright, boys, I want a good and clean fight, no shenanigans!" The words I knew he'd heard in a foreign movie sounded hilarious rolling off his tongue.

"You got this, Duo! Kick his ass!" Heero cheered, patting my shoulders as if we were going to have a boxing match instead of simply arm wrestling.

"You're all fucking nuts!" Quatre called, coming from the kitchen with a napkin pressed to his hand. But he smiled widely in rare form and looked on with interest.

"One, two, three!" Wufei smashed his fist to the wood, and the match began. I had to admit, Trowa was a good deal stronger than I initially thought. His muscles were lean, but years of discipline through his previous profession had made them tough and enduring. And the extra leverage from the length of his arm didn't hurt, either. Even so, he was no match for me. I let our fists hover midway, giving an inch and taking one here and there to humor everyone. I didn't want to embarrass the poor guy, but things had to end sometime. I slowly brought his fist down to the table top, and everyone made a raucous. Heero had been slapping me on the back so hard the entire time, I was pretty sure there would be bruises. Trowa shook his hand out and looked at it with a grimace.

"God, Duo, you're a beast," he commented. "What the fuck do you do everyday?"

"Duo rises before the sun and exercises almost every fucking morning!" Heero informed him somewhat grudgingly. Everyone knew it was his habit to sleep until noon, if we let him.

"I just do the usual. Push ups, sit ups, and pull ups. Nothing fancy," I grinned, scratching the back of my head. I was well aware of how that motion made the muscles on my arm bunch and stretch my shirt sleeve. Heero threw me a smirk, not the least bit dazzled by my display. "And I run."

Ah, that was the magic word. Their brooding faces lit up. "I can run!" Quatre declared, rising up on his toes and raising his hand like a damn kindergartner.

"You're more than welcome to come with me in the morning," I offered.

"I should go," Trowa looked down and patted his concave stomach. "I could use some exercise."

"You are pretty fat," Wufei said, dryly. "I'll do it too. You know, to motivate you or some shit like that."

We all looked at Heero who had just cracked the window and lit a cigarette. He gave a little shake from the frigid air that came flooding in through the opening, before he noticed our eyes on him. He pointed to himself with a shocked expression. We nodded. He looked at me pleadingly and pointed again with that look that said, 'Really? Are you serious?' I just nodded with even more enthusiasm. He needed some sort of physical check with all the chemicals he was constantly poisoning himself with. I grinned, already looking forward to it. I think he knew what I was thinking, and his face blanched a bit, but he soon recovered and put on a cocky smile.

"Whatever, I'll take you on," he told me, leaning against the wall and folding his arms. His eyes lit up with defiance like blue fire, and I could feel their heat blaze from across the room. That was when I liked him best.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Wufei started, but Heero quickly silenced him with the most terrifying glare I'd never even thought him capable of . It sure was enough to scare Wufei's mouth shut with an almost audible clap, like a trap.

"It's decided then," I walked to Heero and extended a hand. He slapped his palm on the underside of my forearm, close to the elbow, and we shook on it. "Tomorrow, I'm going to make you sweat out every drop of alcohol you drank tonight."

It was Christmas morning soon enough, but I made sure it was one the band wouldn't soon forget. The air was crisp and cold, stinging our lungs raw from tobacco and alcohol and whatever else Heero had stole along. The snow from the previous night had begun to melt, and it made a satisfying crunch under our running shoes. At least, I had running shoes. I guess athletic footwear just never found their way into Quatre and Heero's wardrobe. Oh well, sucked to be them.

That's right, I was going to run them. Of course, they'd all agreed quite enthusiastically the night before, liquored up and feeling that midnight invincibility right before the impending hangover. And, oh were they ever. Trowa had to keep Quatre from face planting into a tree when we first stepped out into the morning sun. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the light reflected so brightly on last night's snow, it was blinding. Even I was forced to shield my eyes.

"Alright, group, get in formation," I said it in English with my best authoritative voice. Everyone's eyes snapped to me with surprise. Sure, most of them knew English, especially Heero, but I very rarely ever used it. Unless I was speaking to my parents, it usually only made an appearance during certain activities which had Heero wildly grinning at me. I felt a slight blush on my cheeks, but shook it off. "We're not gonna run looking like a gaggle fuck."

"What the-" Quatre started.

"No talking in formation!" I snapped, and he straightened his back, bringing his hands down by his side, blinking. The other guys sputtered trying not to laugh as they did likewise. I walked back in forth in front of them, with my hands folded behind my back, as if inspecting, stopping directly in the center. "Left face!" They stared at me a second, then turned to their left in quite a clumsy fashion. Well, except for Trowa, of course. He was right at home, and did a perfect little pivot, snapping his shoes back together. Quatre was certainly enjoying the show. "Eyes forward, private!" I warned him. "You're just all kinds of sideways!" Heero and Wufei started chuckling, and Quater mouthed and angry 'What?' at me. I smiled back. He was too easy to tease, especially since Trowa was completely oblivious to the situation. "Forward, march!" We started marching...of sorts. They definitely needed a little help. "Left, left, your left, right left," I called. Everyone looked down at each other's feet, trying to get the timing right. "Left, left, keep it in step." Here we go. "Double time!" I hollered. When I was met with looks of sheer confusion, I clarified. "Means, run! One, two, three, four, hey!" I began the cadence and made them keep my pace. They all shuffled after me. "Here we go," I gestured to them by waiving my hands, until they repeated it. "You got the right, the right to rock steady," I sang, and they caught on, repeating. "You got the right to roll when you're ready!"

"What does that even mean?" Wufei cried during the pause.

"Oh, I love the double time!" I ignored the question and kept singing. "Do it all the time!"

"I'm not loving the double time right now," Trowa called, holding his stomach which was no doubt  
>wrecked from the previous night. I sneaked a look back at Heero, who was keeping up quite bravely, but you could tell how unaccustomed to cardiovascular exercise a person was by that shocked look on their face. I hung back until I was beside him.<p>

"How we doin', soldier?" I grinned at him. His response was something between a grunt and a wheeze. I could see the veins in his neck, not used to having to supply so much oxygen, swell and bulge from the effort. But he kept on jogging, although slower and slower. At around the fifteen minute mark, we were a good thirty paces behind everyone else. "Go ahead," I waved to the rest of the group. "We'll catch up." Trowa looked back with a nod, and they soon disappeared around the bend. I reached out my hand and took hold of Heero's t-shirt, slowing him to a walk. I could tell from the way his legs still kept trying to run that he had completely zoned out and gone to that place all the new privates go to in their minds the first time they are put through rigorous exercise. "You're just adorable," I informed him with a smirk, when he finally slowed to a stop. He leaned over, gripping his knees and panting, trying to catch his breath. In the cold air, I could see the heat swirling off his head and neck like smoke from a fire.

"I'm just about to hurl is what I am," he eventually replied. I slapped him on the back.

"You did good, really. I know you don't usually do this kind of thing. It's impossible to be able to run a long time overnight, especially after all the drinking we did yesterday."

"Don't worry, Duo," he stood up straight, and pushed against his lower back to stretch and smiled at me. "My ego doesn't need stroking."

"So, we on again for tomorrow's workout?" I asked, hopefully.

"Oh, fuck no," The complete lack of hesitation in the reply left no room for argument, but I was going to try anyway.

"But even Quatre can run further than you! Doesn't that bug you at all?"

"Nope," he said quite simply. "I told you, appeals to my ego are useless against me, young Jedi." I shook my head at his geeky reference and began walking back in the direction of the lodge. At least, I hoped it was, all the pine trees kind of looked alike. He trailed after me. "Besides, I'm exceptionally talented in other ways."

Was that a leer in his voice?

"Yes, yes, you're very good with music," I said with a sigh.

"I wasn't talking about music."

"Well, what-" I didn't have time to finish my sentence before Heero tackled me, bringing both of us crashing down into the snow laden shrubbery off the side of the path. Before I could comprehend what was happening, he caught my mouth in a deep kiss, and his hands slid along my sweat drenched shirt into my all too accessible, I realized, jogging shorts. I broke the kiss with a moan, raking my fingers through his thick hair and taking hold, as if for dear life. The cold, wet snow caused my increasingly hot skin to erupt in a wave of pleasure and goosebumps, and I closed my eyes, reveling in it.

"Hm, what's the matter, sergeant? They didn't teach you this in the army?" Heero teased with a smile, his lips caressing my skin along the lower side of my stomach. His smile broadened when I looked down at him in sheer helplessness and bewilderment. Seeing that I could not reply, he, with a special kind of benevolence decided to put an end to my suffering. I gasped like a man drowning when Heero wrapped his tongue around me, and my fist unintentionally tightened in his hair, bringing his head further down. I opened my eyes, looking toward the sky, briefly, before they rolled to the back of my head. The tree tops were spinning in my vision, making a kaleidoscope of colors against the back of my eyelids.

I think the world will agree with me when I say there are few better ways Heero could have made his point. I half walked, half stumbled along after him on our way back to the house, feeling very contented. "You are quite the naughty private," I informed him. He didn't turn around, but he raised both his hands with the victory sign. "Are you sure you don't want to go running with me every morning?" I pleaded.


	6. Final

_For everyone who's kept reading all this time, I can't thank you enough! I really do hope you've enjoyed it! I never knew exactly how it would all end, but I felt a little happiness was well deserved, though a bit cliche. This is a hallmark for me, because it is my very first completed work of fanfiction, and writing it certainly gave me something to occupy my free time with in basic and AIT. I've always been curious as to what bands came to mind when you read this story. What did you imagine they sounded like? As for me, at the end of the story I'm including a soundtrack I compiled one night for funzies. ^^ Thanks again! Drop a review and let me know what you thought! :3_  
><em>-letters<em>  
><p>

* * *

><br>"Boy!" I cracked one eye open when the shadow looming over me spoke. The sun had begun it's descent, and the sky over the sea wore angry shades of purple and green in the distance. There were small flashes of lightning on the horizon. "Son, you gotta get on up outta here. You can't be sleepin' on the beach, now!" I felt like my eyeball audibly creaked as it roved over to look at the officer disturbing my sandy slumbering. I simply closed my eyes again, which was apparently the wrong answer. I immediately felt the sharp jab of a baton in my shoulder. "Come on, now! You been drinking tonight?" To the man's astonishment, I began to laugh as I sat up.

"No, sir," I got around to saying. "I'm leaving."

"You got a place to go to, boy?" I stared at him a moment. He sounded so sincere in his concern. And then it dawned on me that I was wearing my old, ratty jogging shorts and a plain white shirt with no socks or shoes. It was the only beach attire I could find kicking around my parents' house for my impromptu trip. I looked like a damn bum. It'd been two months since I'd gotten back to the states, and already I was stir crazy to get out of the podunk little town I'd been raised in. Why couldn't the Maxwell clan have settled in California? Then I wouldn't have even had to worry about finding appropriate beach garb. I hear you can wear absolutely nothing out there. The officer took a step back as I stood and dusted myself off, grabbing my empty, plastic water bottle.

"I'm fine, thank you. I didn't realize how late it was. I'll be on my way." I began to walk, as best one can in deep sand, and heard the sound of shuffling behind me. I suppose the officer had nothing better to do on his beat than follow some random guy for a spell.

"So, what's got you down, boy? Looked like you had a lot on your mind. You get dumped or somethin'?" As Quatre would say, Seriously? I just shook my head and kept walking. "Heh, I see! Yeah, it figures. You're a decent enough looking fellow, though you do dress a bit scruffy. You dumped her, then, and now you're having second thoughts."

"Sure, whatever." I offered, not really in the mood to divulge all of my relationship issues to some hick cop.

"Well, I'll be. You were in the military, weren't ya?"

I mentally cursed myself for curling my fists when I walked. It was always such a dead giveaway. I shook my hands out. "Yes, I was. What about it?"

"Well, I was in the military too! So that kinda makes us compadres, don't it?"

"...Sure."

"Served in the Gulf War, am I right? Man, you guys sure whipped their asses!" He laughed loudly. My shoulders stiffened, and I grit my teeth. "Ah, I wish I could have been there, but I was already retired by then. So, how many hajis you pop?" That was about all I could take. I whirled around in a rage.

"I didn't pop anyone! You and this whole damn country don't get it! You were in the fucking military, and you still don't get it!"

He nearly stumbled back in surprise. "Get what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"That they're fucking people! Just like us! And that's all war is, people killing other people! It's terrible! It's disgusting! And people like you who spin it into some huge dick waiving contest are disgusting!" I took a menacing step toward him. He must have felt threatened, because his hand slid over to the baton on his belt.

"Now, hold on, son, I didn't mean it like that." I shook my head at him, and began walking away. "Look here," he called after me, "You gotta spin it somehow, otherwise you'll go insane! You hear me?"

I threw a hand into the air in acknowledgement, but kept walking till I reached my mom's old, cream colored Ford Tempo, her new Mustang Convertible being off limits, even to the person who bought it for her. I got in and laid my head on the steering wheel. Was that really the answer? To lie? I'd been lying to myself and the people around me for so long. Was that really the only way to get through it all? To get through life? I raised my head and brought my forehead back down into the wheel with a thud. I knew what I had to do, but oh God...how I dreaded it. I started the car and drove the three hours back to my parents' old farm house, which I'd paid off for them a couple of years ago. The next morning, I went to Fort Bragg to take care of some unfinished business, then I booked a flight to Houston and left. Once we landed, I took out my cell phone, the one Heero had finally persuaded me to buy back in the day, and dialed the number I'd retrieved from the many letters sent to my home address years ago. A young woman answered the phone.

"Yellow?" she dragged the word out with a Texas twang.

"Oh, hello," I cleared my very dry throat. "Um, I was looking for a Ms. Solo. Is this still her number?"

"Oh, you must be looking for my mother. She's getting her hair done, but I'd be happy to take a message for ya."

"Um...," I cleared my throat again. "I was just in the area, and...well, she's been trying to contact me for a while. I served with...with your brother in the late war."

I heard a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my sweet Jesus! You're Duo Maxwell, ain't ya?"

"Yes," I practically whispered.

"Where are you, darlin'?"

"I'm at the airport."

"Stay right there! I'll be there in fifteen." She didn't give me time to reply before she hung up. I walked outside to wait by the curve, and bummed a cigarette off the first person I could find. She was actually there in thirteen minutes. Somehow, she seemed to instinctively know who I was, and drove up along side me. The tall, tanned, muscular woman, who looked to be about thirty five or so, eyed me from a large, red pickup truck with green eyes. She had that same, wild blond hair, but it was held back by little red bandanna tied around her head. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door. "Duo, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said as I stepped up into the truck. Before I knew what was what, she had leaned over again and grabbed me in a tight, almost desperate hug. Not knowing what to do, my hands lightly rested at her elbows.

"Thank you so much for coming," she whispered, and I could hear approaching tears in her voice. "I know how hard it must be for you. And it really means so much to us." As I gazed down at the bandanna against my chest, it occurred to me that this was someone Solo had cherished and loved. Someone who had known him all his life, way longer than I had. Someone I'd left in the dark about her brother's fate for years. My arms slowly wrapped around her, and I held her tightly, closing my eyes. Eventually, she pushed away, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry," she grinned, putting the truck into gear. "I know you soldier types ain't all emotional like that and stuff."

"There's nothing to apologize for," I told her, giving her my kindest smile. "I should have come sooner."

"Yes," she agreed, but she continued to grin at me. "You should have, but I understand why you didn't. I'm just glad you're here now. And I know he's glad, too." She patted my leg and we began to drive toward what I assume was their home. "I'm Nancy, by the way. Dan's older sister. My goodness, but he used to talk up a storm about you! I feel like I already know you!"

"Solo, I mean, Dan, used to talk about me?" I asked.

"Oh, all the time! You know he really had a soft spot for you. I think you were his favorite."  
>I said nothing, but it warmed me to know he had thought enough of me to mention me to his family. I smiled and gazed out the window at the flat lands speeding by.<p>

"My goodness, but you do have long hair!" she commented with a sideways glance. "Looks too pretty to be boy's hair! I like it! Looks good on you!"

"Thanks," I blushed and scratched the back of my head. "I grew it out again after I got out of the military."

"Oh, what are you doing now?"

"It's gonna sound crazy, but I was in a band in Japan."

"Oh, no way! Dan always said you'd be such a bore if he weren't around. But I do remember him telling me you played guitar. Were you guys big?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. We kinda broke up this year, though."

"I see, so that's why you're in the states again."

"More or less."

"You married?"

"Was."

"Oh, I'm sorry. God, no one can stay together these days. I've been married, too. Rat bastard!" she snorted, turning off the highway to a smaller road. "Thought he was just Don Juan or something! You didn't cheat on your wife, did ya?"

"No!" I chuckled. "I found other ways to run her off."

"Ah, well, you seem ok to me. You'll meet someone nice, I'm sure." I just smiled again. She pulled up to a ranch style home at the end of a long drive. Out front, the POW MIA flag hung fluttering in the breeze. Nancy put the car in park and started to get out. "Mom should be home by now. I left her a note, trying to prepare her a bit. She's getting up there, ya know? Don't want to completely surprise her."

"I understand." I said, and I got out, too. But I didn't follow her. I didn't move; my feet felt rooted to the spot. She paused halfway up to the door and glanced over her shoulder. I think she could see the fear in my eyes, because she smiled, warmly, and walked back to me. Taking my hand in hers, she led me like a small child up to the front door where an elderly woman with recently dyed hair and very long, red nails was already waiting. She opened the screen door and stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. I stared back, at an utter loss for what to say.

"Mom," Nancy rescued us both, "This is Duo Maxwell. Dan's friend."

"Oh, yes! Of course it is! Come in, come in!" She stepped to the side and I entered the living room, standing nervously, with my hands behind my back. She began to stare at me again, but Nancy tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and she snapped out of it. "Please," she gestured to the chair behind me, "Have a seat. What can I get you to drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"Water would be great," I said.

"Have a seat, Mom, I got it." Nancy patted her shoulder and went into the kitchen, leaving both of us to stare at each other again. I swear, it was like the woman never blinked.

"They never told us what happened," she suddenly said, not taking her eyes off of me.

"I'm sorry?"

"They never told us what happened to Dan," she clarified. "I talked to everyone I could think of, and no one seemed to have any information about him at all. It was like they didn't miss him at all; like he never existed." I saw her eyes begin to mist. "Even now, he's still just a name on the missing persons list. One soldier even told me it was likely he went AWOL." A tear fell out of the corner of her eye and rolled slowly down her wrinkled cheek. "Can you believe that?" She whispered, clasping her hands against her breast. "My son would never! He wouldn't do that! Dan was so brave, always so brave. Even when his father left us, he dropped out of high school to get a job and help pay the bills, and I never heard one word of complaint." She sighed heavily and wiped her eyes.

"Your son was one of the bravest men I have ever met," I told her. "And he saved my life."  
>Nancy had returned with a tray full of glasses and a pitcher with water and lemons. At my words, she paused, and then quickly poured us all water and took a seat next to her mother, holding her hands. Now I had two big pairs of green eyes staring at me. So, I told them, as gently as I could, just how great a man Dan Solo was, and how he used his last moments of life to save mine. They both began to weep quietly, but it had to be said. "I've already spoken to our old commander," I pressed on, "He's going to ensure that Solo receives proper recognition for his service. He'll be in contact with you shortly."<p>

I then fell silent, and looked down at my feet. Nancy recovered more quickly than her mother, and rose from her seat. "Come on, Duo. There's something I want to show you." She held out her hand again, and I took it, following her down a long hall to a closed door. There was an AC/DC poster on it. Of course it was AC/DC. She gestured to it, and stood to the side. I opened the door and walked inside the small room. Little model airplanes hung above a small bed with a plaid comforter, and music and movie posters were plastered everywhere. On the ceiling, glow in the dark stars and planets were scattered about, and there was a little red telescope next to the window. Heh, he was a nerd. I shoved my hands in my pocket and grinned wildly, gazing about. I walked over to his dresser where stacks of records and magazines sat. I looked at Nancy, raising my eyebrows.

"Go ahead." she said with a nod. I went through all of his music, then I went through all of his subscriptions. I spun the propellers on the little airplanes over my head and looked through the little telescope. I opened his closet, and found a box of old toys stored away, GI-JOES and little Matchbox cars. I wondered what Sergeant would think about me going through all his stuff. I wondered what he would think of me now. Nancy had quietly slipped away, shutting the door, and I stood in the middle of the room.

"I never thanked you for what you did," I said. "In fact, for a long time, I was angry at what you did. I was stupid. I didn't understand what you meant when you talked about living. And I've let you down." I closed my eyes, and I felt the sting of tears. "But I'm going to try harder from now on. I'm not going to waste the chance you gave me anymore. I won't be unhappy. Sergeant," my voice began to break, "thank you. I'll never be able to thank you enough."

I drew an old and tattered pack of UNO cards out of my pocket and placed them on the dresser. I then left. Nancy drove me back to the airport. Before I got out, she took my hand and pressed something into it. I looked down and saw a picture of Solo and me at the bus stop. He'd taken it with an old poloroid camera during one of our block leaves.

"Thank you," I said. In turn, I handed her a large envelope from my bag. She looked at it, curiously. "This is something I owed Solo from way back in the day," I explained. "You know, all those card games I lost," I winked.

"Oh, Duo, you don't have to-" I stopped her by raising my hands.

"Just open it later," I said. "It's got my phone number in there, too. Call if you ever need anything at all." I leaned over and hugged her again, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bye, Nancy."

"Bye, Duo." she said. "And thank you."

I flew home, feeling weightless. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted. For the first time in a long time, I felt free. I got back to North Carolina late that night, and received a phone call on my way back to my parents' house.

"Duo, honey, there's a strange man here to see you!" My mother whispered fiercely over the phone.

"Mom, why are you whispering? Who is it?"

"I don't know! I think he's Chinese or somethin'. You know, Oriental type! But he's tall! Seems real upset. I said I didn't know when you'd be back, and asked if he'd called you, but I don't know if he understands. I put him on the porch. Your father isn't happy at all."

"Put him on the phone," I said, ignoring the last part.

There was a long pause, and I could hear the front door open and my mother speaking to someone. She then picked the receiver back up. "I can't get him to come inside. Oh, Duo, he looks awful, what should I do? Should I call the police?"

"No!" I almost yelled. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Well, I don't know!" she yelled back. "There's some strange Oriental man on my porch! And your father isn't happy at all!"

"Tell Dad to stave off the lynching for another half hour, I'll be there soon."

We hung up and I drove faster. What could be so important that someone came all the way from Japan to tell me? I practically skidded to a halt, leapt out of the car, and ran up the porch steps. My movement triggered the flood light, and I saw Trowa sitting on the porch swing to my left, with his head in his hands. Oh no.

"Trowa?" I walked over and shook his shoulder. "Trowa, what's wrong?" I knelt down trying to see into the man's face. He seemed to shrink further into himself and his fists were so tight against his forehead, his fingers were white. I saw my mother looming in the window, anxiously wringing her hands, and I nodded that it was alright and waved her away. "Trowa, come on, buddy. Snap out of it."

"Quatre's dead," he said, quietly.

I let him go and fell back on my ass, dumbfounded. "What...what happened?" I finally asked. Part of me really didn't want to know.

"He fucking hung himself," Trowa spat. He rose and started pacing the length of the porch. I followed him with my eyes back and forth. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face was drawn and haggard. "I'm sorry," he started to speak very fast. "I know I should have called before I just showed up. But I didn't know how to tell you. Not over the phone. And I can't get in touch with Heero, and Wufei's somewhere in China, right now. Said he couldn't make it back. I got your parents' address from Nakamura. I didn't know what to do. I wanted there to be at least two fucking people at his funeral!" he ran a hand through his hair, sweeping his long bangs back before they fell over his eye again. "I wanted him to come with Miyu and me. We were going to France, and I remember how much he loved it there. Remember that time, when we were touring? And we went to Paris? Wasn't that fun? It was, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said, still watching him pace frantically back and forth.

"I couldn't find him! I couldn't get in touch with him! The people at WM said he hadn't been around in days!" his voice was growing louder and louder in agitation. "So, I went to his place. I knocked, and no one answered. But I saw his car, and I knew something was up. I knew it! So I broke down the door, and, and..." he stopped pacing, and sank down against the wall. "Why?" he ground out through gritted teeth. "Why would he do this? Why didn't he tell me something was wrong? He knew I'd do anything for him! He knew that! So, why?..." His head sank back down between his knees.

I guessed that the little brat hadn't bothered to see to proper suicide etiquette and leave a note explaining why. Then again, I knew why anyway, but still...such a brat. I got up and sat next to the grief stricken man, putting an arm around his shoulder. "Trowa," I sighed, not really knowing what to say. "This isn't something you could have helped him with."

"It's my fault," he muttered. "I know it is...It has to be, or he would have told me."

I didn't say anything more. In a way, he was right. Trowa had saved him, and in the end, helped doom him all over again. But it wasn't really his fault. A man cannot choose whom to love. We stayed there for a while, my mother periodically leaning out the door to ask if we wouldn't like some iced tea while we chatted. Before long, from sheer exhaustion, Trowa fell asleep, leaning against me. I watched the fireflies glowing over the lawn. It was coming to the end of their season, and they'd soon all die as well. I knew why Quatre did it. He did it because he was tired of living on borrowed time. But he didn't realize, that we're all out there doing the exact same thing, just trying to be happy. I closed my eyes, feeling the moisture of dew forming on our clothes. I couldn't tell him then, because I didn't know, that we're all empty, but it's by loving other people, and being loved by those people, that we are given some kind of substance; something to go on.

I flew back with Trowa for the funeral. There were four people there, actually. Trowa's wife, Miyu, and Nakamura were there. Trowa passed me a bone fragment to keep, and the rest were put in a small chest. I stared at the tiny, little gray piece of Quatre that had survived the furnace and tried to make the connection that it used to be part of my coworker, my friend, but some things are just impossible to comprehend, though you may understand them. After the funeral, I went with Trowa and Miyu to their home to spend the night. I had already sold the condo, but I managed to track down my beloved Subaru and get it back. The next morning, Trowa and I sat at his dining table, while Miyu made breakfast and coffee for us. She really was a great girl, so sweet and gentle. I'd been so self absorbed, I'd never taken the time to get to know her, but I could see now why Trowa was so enamored with her.

"She's quite a catch," I said, once she was out of earshot.

Trowa, though still shaken, was doing a lot better now that the funeral was actually over. He smiled at me. "Thanks. She's my happiness." I could tell he meant it. I smiled and took a sip of coffee from the glass mug in my hand. "Duo, can I ask you something?" he said, slowly twisting his cup back and forth against the table.

"Of course."

"It's...kind of personal."

I quirked my eyebrows and shrugged. "I'll try my best to answer."

"Well, what happened that night Wufei and I found you in the rain? You were almost dead, so we took you to Heero's family's hospital, because we figured that was probably a good place for him to find you. We never really heard from you or Heero since."

I frowned, and looked into my reflection in the cup. "Ah, yeah, I should have thanked you. I'm sorry." Trowa just waived my apology away and waited for me to continue. "Honestly, I haven't seen Heero since either, but I met his brother, and, well, kind of found out some stuff. Some stuff that led me to believe it would be best for everyone if I just disappeared from their lives and went back to the States." I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sure Wufei would agree with me!"

"Probably," Trowa smiled with a little roll of his eyes. "He's seen Heero during some really bad times, and it tends to make him very protective."

"I've done some horrible things," I said gravely. "Intentional or not, I've hurt Heero more ways than I can ever hope to atone for. I was just too much of a fucking idiot to realize it."

Trowa looked at me, thoughtfully. "That's true, perhaps. But, in a way, I've never seen Heero so functional. It's like...," he shifted in his seat, searching for the words. "It's like in trying so hard to take care of you, he held himself together."

"I don't want that," I said, shaking my head and rubbing my eyebrows.

"I'm not saying you do, but honestly, I'm worried about him now that you're gone."

"Well, his family's looking after him, now."

"Heh! They hate him," Trowa scoffed into his cup.

"I guess someone doesn't. His brother told me he's getting married."

Trowa almost dropped his coffee. "What the-?" I drummed the top of the table with my fingers. "Hold on, to who?"

"To the mother of his child, I'd assume." I looked him in the eye. He blinked for a moment.

"Oh, so you found out about that?" he finally asked.

"I met her. She's a good kid. Why didn't he tell me about her?"

Trowa shrugged. "Honestly, I think he was trying to forget. It's not like he was in a position to take care of her. And they sent the kid off to some godforsaken boarding school, so it's not like he could visit, but I know it hurt him. By the time she got back into the country, he probably just didn't know how to tell you." I swallowed his explanation, but it left a bitter taste in my mouth. "So, his family arranged this marriage to make some sort of decent man out of him, and he's going along with it?"

"I don't know," I muttered, glancing to the side.

"You're just going to let him go along with it?"

"Well, damn it, he's a grown man, he can marry anyone he wants!" I practically yelled. Miyu looked over from the kitchen in alarm, and Trowa gave her a thumbs up. He looked at me with a smirk. "What's so fucking funny?" I demanded.

"You are," he said with a shrug.

"What?"

"It's like you talk yourself out of everything."

"Maybe he just wants to see his damn kid more! I'd be a monster to try and stop that!"

"Maybe marrying somebody to do that isn't the correct answer," Trowa countered. He leaned over the table. "Duo, time is running, and no one ever knows when it will be out." He looked me square in the eye. "Do you love him?" I looked up, down, practically everywhere but into his eyes. "Do you love him, yes or no?"

I sighed, putting my head in my hands. "Yes...damn it."

"Then go and get him, before it's too late."

"He'll never forgive me."

"Of course he will." Trowa said as he rose to refill his coffee.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because Heero loves you, too. I know he does."

* * *

><p>I rented a hotel and set out for the only place I guessed I'd be able to figure out where Heero had gone, back to the hospital. But finding out private information is a little harder than one would think, even with star power. The front desk wasn't willing to just give out the Yuy estate address, and Heero's brother refused my calls to his office. After only being there about twenty minutes, I was approached by a security guard and informed that my presence at this hospital was now banned, and that I had to leave. I figured tossing the guard over my shoulder and making a break for it upstairs would just land me in jail, so I grudgingly saw myself out. Well, my first idea hadn't gotten me anywhere. As I walked through the second set of sliding doors and out into the sunlight, a woman in a white dress with a very large, white hat and yellow shoes passed me, her long, wheat colored hair blowing freely in the breeze. I heard her heels click to a stop, and looked over my shoulder. She had turned, and was gazing at me over the rim of her dark sunglasses, an unreadable expression in her blue eyes. I felt like I knew this woman from somewhere, and gazed back, searching my memory banks. She remembered first, and took a step toward me.<br>"I know you," she said in English, and I could detect a slight British accent. "You're Duo Maxwell."

"That's my name," I said, taking a step in turn. She extended a slender hand in my direction.

"I'm Relina Dorland, Heero's fiancee."

Feeling a little numb, I took her hand somewhat mechanically, and gave it a little shake. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You're practically all Heero talks about," She smiled prettily, but I could see something brewing behind her happy expression, along with a good dose of curiosity. "The pleasure is all mine. I was here to get Lita. The little darling just loves it at her uncle's hospital for some reason."

"Before that, could I speak with you for a minute?" I just threw it out there. I had no plans for what I would ask or say. She studied me for a moment, and swept some of her hair behind her creamy, white shoulder.

"Of course," she decided. "Let's walk; there is a little cafe right down the lane." I followed Relina to the coffee shop, and we took a seat at a little iron wrought table outside. She ordered a Café au lait, and I just shook my head at the server. After removing her sunglasses, she interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on them. "So, what is it you wanted to ask me?"

There was a bit of an awkward pause, as I searched for a way to approach the subject. "Well, I guess I just want to know how Heero's doing. Is he okay? None of us have heard from him."

"Yes, he is indisposed a good deal of the time," she commented lightly, and I saw her eyes darken again. She drew a slim cigarette out of her purse and placed it in a golden holder. I didn't even know people still used those things. After lighting it, she blew tiny smoke rings into the air, and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. "You want me to give you a way to get in touch with him?"

"Yes," I said, honestly.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because he's having enough trouble adjusting to what's required of him as is. I need all of his ghosts from the past to just stay locked up for now. You know how he is. He never sleeps, never eats. I think he very well may die before the wedding, anyway." She said it so casually, as if she would be completely indifferent either way. "If he can keep his silly head together long enough for this wedding, he can disappear for all I care."

"You're marrying him, and you don't love him at all?" I asked. There was no emotion in my voice, but I'd never been more tempted to punch a woman in the face.

"Love is a tricky subject, as I'm sure you well know," she smirked. "I've known Heero since he was very young. We danced in the Youth Ballet Company in Tokyo together. Well, until his condition made it too painful for him to continue." She blew a steady stream of blueish smoke and stared at the ground, lost in a memory. "He was beautiful, like something out of a dream. It was such a shame. Little did I know at the time I had received a parting gift that was to end my career as well." She smiled bitterly. "Our family has a long history of investment with the Yuy empire, so, when Heero's brother contacted me with a marriage offer to permanently tie the two households together, it seemed only natural to agree."

"You didn't answer my question," I said firmly.

"I loved what Heero once was. I loathe what he has become. Should I be thanking you for that?" Her eyes glowered at me, fiercely, but I held her stare and said nothing. "In any case, he said he wanted it, and I don't need you around to talk him out of it." She ground her cigarette into an ashtray and finished her drink. Pushing her chair back, she rose and put her sunglasses back on. "I admire your ardor," she said, placing her purse under her arm, "but I won't tolerate your interference. Please just leave it be."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," I echoed. "I will find him."

"Waste your time as you like," she shrugged. She then left me, along with the bill for her coffee. What a bitch. So, he had met her in the ballet. Sounded romantic. I personally knew nothing about dancing, only tidbits I'd picked up from Heero during our time together. That, and he did drag me to see A Midsummer's Night Dream. I remember threatening to tie him up if he didn't stop dancing along with his arms. Of course, he thought that was a great idea, so I had to just suffer his over enthusiasm for the finer arts the entire evening. I didn't recall ever claiming to have refined tastes, but I've always thought his motions were naturally graceful, and even I had to admit he must have been quite the site. Though the thought of Heero in a leotard made me kind of chuckle. That morning after, he was helping me with a particularly difficult rift, and after showing me how to do it for the tenth time, he stepped back and let me take a crack at it. I got through it alright, and then he did something I'll never forget. He closed his eyes, letting his head tilt slightly to the side, and gently folded his hands over his chest and let them fall in a circular motion. I stared, a little mesmerized by the simple beauty of the gesture, before Quatre snorting jerked me out of my trance.

"That's more of that gay ass ballet shit, isn't it?" I demanded, turning away quite flustered and red for some reason. He had just laughed at my obvious embarrassment, and gave my braid a tug as he walked past me to retrieve his own guitar. He always did these little, unexpected things, things that made me feel like life was indeed a wondrous thing; that life was beautiful. But looking back, I realized that it was always just him.

Heero...Where did you go?

I sat at the little iron table for a long time, resting on my elbow with my fist pressed tightly against my lips. Hundreds of people passed me on the streets, and customers came and went. Late into the evening, it finally came to me; a small itch of a voice in the back of my brain whose distant cries became louder and louder until the idea lit up my mind like a blazing furnace. I almost overturned the chair I was sitting in when I got up. Throwing money down on the table, I jumped the iron fence encompassing the outside dining area and ran back to my car like a man possessed. I knew what to do, but I couldn't do it alone.  
><p>

* * *

><br>"You gotta learn how to swim sooner or later, boy." My grandfather argued with me, as I stood next to the ledge of the public pool clutching a fuzzy, yellow towel around myself in terror. In my wisdom of five years, I heartily disagreed, and scooted so close to him that my head was bumping into his belly, which overhung his ridiculously loud swimming trunks. "Look, Duo, look at all the other people. Don't they look like they're havin' a good ol' time?" he pointed in the direction of all the splashing and noise, and I shook my head, clutching his leg.

"Dad, maybe he's just not ready yet. You know?" My mother walked over and patted me on the back. I could smell her tanning lotion mixing with the scent of chlorine.

"Nonsense, Therese. You baby the kid! He's gonna grow up to be a pansy!" Grandpa scoffed. My mother simply shrugged and stood up.

"Whatever you say, Dad," she surrendered and walked away. I began to run after her, but Grandpa hooked a finger in my swimming trunks, pulling me back. He let the elastic go with a little snap, and I yelped.

"Where you think you're going there, tiger?" He teased. "Now, did I ask you if you wanted to go swimming today?"

"...Yes," I pouted, twisting my foot back and forth against the rough concrete.

"And did you tell me, 'yes'?"

"But, Grandpa-"

"Ab! Bip! Did you or did you not?" He held up his finger.

"Yes." I answered, grudgingly.

"What are you so afraid of?" he asked. "Sure, it's different, and it's something you've never done before, but that ain't no reason to be scared, boy! That's what makes life fun!"

I looked out at the bright light reflecting off the surface of the water, and the mills of children with rainbows of floaties and tubes all screaming and laughing. It did kind of look like fun. "Ok..." I said at length, still looking at the activity down towards the deep end of the pool.

"That's the spirit, Duo! I'm proud of you, son!" I would have grinned, but he immediately grabbed an arm and a leg and flung me into the pool. I think my shriek pierced the heavens before I hit the water, flailing desperately. I remember my grandfather laughing, my mother yelling at him, and swallowing a shit-ton of water, but by God...I did learn to swim that day.

* * *

><p>It took at least three months to prepare. Trowa really was a life saver, and I never could have pulled it off without him. When I told him my idea, he enthusiastically agreed to help in any way he could. He even got Wufei back into Japan and talking to me again. After all, drums were a part of my plan. And Wufei found us a keyboardist, some punky, little wisp of a girl with long, black hair. I remember thinking it was kind of ironic, and that maybe he'd done it on purpose, but once I heard her play, I changed my tune. I gave her the new song, and all of the scores of our old songs, and sent her home to study. The hardest part was talking Nakamura into sponsoring us, and booking the amphitheater down town, especially after we'd completely ditched him not less than a year before. And also, as he pointed out, we were now shy not one, but two original band members, and our popularity had already begun a steady decline. After all, in Japan, fame lasts all of about five minutes. But, like always, Wufei could argue his way into anything, especially after he got caught up in the momentum of a great plan. We all promised Nakamura we'd make it worth his while. I told him he could have as many T.V. cameras there as he wanted, the more the better. And Wufei pointed out that no matter what kind of show it was, there was always room for advertisement. And so, we got our venue.<p>

Next, we hit the streets, thousands of fliers in hand. I put them in every bar and club I could find, anywhere where musicians might hang. I even put some in the old bar Wufei used to own and Heero used to work at. I personally invited everyone who would lend me their ear to the show. Once they recognized who I was, they more often than not got eagerly agreed to be there, especially if I signed an autograph for them. I signed many autographs, telling them all the while to tell everyone they knew.

The night of our hastily assembled performance, the place was packed. Lights fired off in every direction, and there were at least five media vans parked out front. Trowa glanced out across the multitude as we set up our gear. "Quite a crowd," he grinned. "Didn't think this many people still liked us."

"It might very well be the final performance. Half of them probably don't even know who we are." Wufei, ever the skeptic, sat behind his drum set, twirling a stick. He turned toward me. "Even if this doesn't work out, I want you to know it's been good to work with you again. I'm sorry I was such an asshole without fully considering the situation."

"No," I shook my head. "You were right. I was fucked up and way out of line. Thanks for realizing it."

"Yeah, but I could have handled it better."

"Alright!" Trowa shouted, rolling his eyes and shouldering his bass guitar. "You two can kiss and make up all you want, later. Let's get this party started."

"Wait just a second!" I cried. I took Heero's Gibson guitar I'd gotten out of storage, and placed it on a stand near the center of the stage. "Oh, please work," I whispered, plugging it into the amp. I nodded to Trowa. After everyone else was ready and had given him the go ahead, he signaled to the lights and sound support, and all of the lights went out, save one spotlight directly over Heero's old guitar. I waited a couple of seconds, inhaling deeply, before stepping into the light. This was going to be it's own special form of suicide. A cheer slowly erupted from the crowd, and I held up my hand, at first in recognition, and then to quiet them. "How we doing this evening?" I called out cheerily. Receiving an resounding ruckus from the audience, I continued on. "I want to thank each and every one of you for being here, tonight. It means a lot to us, especially me. I've done and said a lot of dumb things in the past," the crowd fell curiously silent, "A lot of things that drove the person I loved the most away from me. And now, with your help, I'm going to get him back." There had to be thousands of people there, but you could have heard a pin drop. I swallowed hard, and began to play. I played and sang the song I'd written for him.  
>I tried to tell him everything in the song I'd never been able to put into words when we were together. That he was my definition of light and beauty, and how I'd survived everything up to this point in my life just for the chance to meet someone like him. That he was my reason for living, and no matter what he decided, he would always have my heart. I finished the song and bowed my head. Briefly, I crossed my hands over my chest the way he had done long ago, and I gazed into the throngs of faces in the dark. "Heero," I said, my voice wavering, whether from emotion or the strain of singing, even I could not tell, "Please come back."<p>

Silence reigned once more, as I waited for an answer. From somewhere in the crowd, a woman's voice rang out. "Heero!" she screamed at the top of her lungs in a voice I knew could only belong to one person. I looked and saw my ex wife leaning over the railing, shouting for all she was worth. "Heero! Go back!" God bless you, Hilde.

"Go back, Heero!" someone echoed from the other side of the crowd.

"Heero, go back!" The shrillness of a high school girl's voice pierced the air.

Before long, almost everyone in the crowd was cheering for Heero's return. They began clapping and stomping their feet, their force shaking the stage on which we stood. Wufei began hitting the step drum in time with their cries. Trowa slung his guitar on his back and called along with them. I slowly turned around to look upon all the nameless faces, utterly speechless. I didn't know it was possible to love people I didn't even know that much. Suddenly, there were ear shattering screams, and Trowa ran next to me, grabbing hold of my shoulder.

"Look! Look!" I could barely hear him at his loudest above the crowd, but I looked to where he was pointing. Somewhere towards the very top, left side of the crowd, people had begun to clear a path. Someone was slowly and deliberately stepping down the bleachers, sending the people into a frenzy as they passed. As the person drew nearer, I saw the baggy jeans, the wild mess of brown hair, an old, familiar red-striped shirt, and my heart began to climb into my throat. Heero slowly ascended the steps on the side of the stage and with a passing nod to Trowa and Wufei, he walked slowly up to me, his hands in his back pockets. His face wore no expression, as he gazed directly into my eyes. Like so many times before, I just let myself drown in his, and then they began to mist. He sniffled, and wiped his nose with something between a sob and a laugh. Shoving his hands back deep into his pockets, he grinned up at me and rocked back on his heels.

"You're just awful!" he said, quite cheerfully.

"So I've been told," I said. Leaning over and wrapping my hand around the back of his head, I kissed him, deeply. I kissed him for a damn long time, and I think all of Japan saw it. It sounded like the entire nation went crazy, as rockets and fireworks erupted over our heads. Damn Nakamura and his theatrics. I eventually released my hold, and he touched his forehead against mine.

"You owe my cat an apology," he scolded, quite breathlessly.

"I'll get right on that," I whispered, planting another kiss on his forehead. By that point, I guess Trowa and Wufei had decided we'd had enough alone time, and they group hugged us both.

"Really, guys, who came up with that flyer?" Heero laughed as Trowa ruffled his hair and Wufei patted him on the back. "'Join our epic, musical battle to win Heero back'? What the fuck? And who's that?" Heero pointed through our little huddle at the black haired girl standing awkwardly off to the side. I waived her over, and she got in on the love.

"Heero, this is Onda. Jenny Onda," Wufei told him.

"It's an honor, sir!" the poor thing bowed as best she could with all of the guys hovering above her.

"Aren't you cute!" Heero cooed. "But you've got some big shoes to fill. Come on," he shoved his way out of the group, scattering us. "Let's see your stuff, kid." And just like that, he became the person he had been the first day I met him, full of energy and of life. He slung the guitar sling around his shoulder, and after tossing a wink my way, he began tapping his foot to the rhythm of Wufei's drum line. I felt like I had at our very first show, and for a moment, everything was aligned once more, and my world was complete again and perfect.

Now, I would be lying if I told you things stayed that way, and we never had a care in the world again. After much fighting, mostly on my part, and threatening of legal action and negative publicity, Heero's family grudgingly agreed to let Heero visit Lita with no strings attached. And we were still a far cry from perfection, ourselves. I still got jumpy from time to time, though my anger was less severe, and Heero still made pancakes almost every fucking morning and never ate them, and drank beer at seven in the morning. We both had our ups and downs, and were rarely on the same page, but he didn't hide how he truly felt from me anymore. So, even though I witnessed some moods I'd never thought possible from him, it comforted me to know that he didn't just disappear. And in turn, I told him all of my past, and it afforded him a way to reach out to me whenever I became distracted and distant. And we're making our way through life, somehow, some way. He's currently obsessed with some kid's cartoon called 'Gundam Wing'. He watches it religiously every day, and he insists that they modeled the main character after him. I remind him that he's crazy, and he calls me a stupid ass. So it goes.

The End.

**SOUNDTRACK**

Arpeggio Fishes - Radio Head  
>Hey - Pixies<br>Mouthful of Diamonds - Phantogram  
>Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups<br>It's Good to be in Love - Frou Frou  
>Divine (Sebastien Tellier) - Danger Remix<br>You Saved My Life - Cass McCombs  
>I Turn My Camera On - Spoon<br>Sacred Heart - Cass McCombs  
>How Soon is Now? - The Smiths<br>The Whale Song - Modest Mouse  
>Where - Ultraspank<br>Little Motel - Modest Mouse  
>You've Got the Love - The Source Ft. Candi Staton<br>Collect Call - Metric  
>Your Love is a Song - Switchfoot<br>M - Kiethevez


End file.
